Masquerade
by ink and ashes
Summary: AU. When the odd and clumsy Isabella Swan arrives in Forks, the Cullens think she'll make a marvelous addition to their coven. Well, except the one that wants to eat her — she likes that one the most. Jasper x Bella. [UNDERGOING MAJOR REVISION]
1. The First

**SPECIAL THANKS: **Whimsy, for reading my everything and holding my hand. Love._  
><em>

_Masquerade_

**THE FIRST**

They were hiding something from him.

This was not a hunch, nor a paranoid presumption, nor had a matter of overwhelming evidence brought this revelation to the forefront of his thoughts—though he had plenty of that, should he find the need to provide any, which he did not foresee—and this had nothing to do with the aggravating mirth those two shared for the past week. He did not have his brother's ability to glean information from another's mind on a whim, but it did not take a genius to figure out that they shared some kind of conspiracy. A joke rather, if their giddy excitement had a factor in it, and it was primarily directed towards _him_; if this was another prank, he swore to do all within his means to make them as miserable as possible in the aftermath.

Jasper Whitlock was the newest addition to the Cullen family—if sixty-odd years could be considered _new_—and still struggling with their strange mannerisms, but a child, a _human_ child, would know that having _those two_ as a mated pair was a disaster. Granted, they complimented each other well and their gifts were extraordinary… but therein lay the problem; Edward Cullen was a telepath who could not filter the thoughts of others, and Alice Cullen, that cheerful sprite of a vampire, had the ability to see the future based on the decisions of the individuals involved. Normally, the subjective visions were handled with seriousness and utmost care when they were important, then shared amongst their cozy little coven. When they were inconsequential, such as the outcome of which ensemble would better suit some popular gathering, or which color automobile they would buy, it was simply stated and simply implemented with little fuss. She always shared her visions with her family. _Always_.

Not this time.

This time, it had something to do with him. Something she shared only with Edward, her mate and husband. Something they found _funny_.

It was horseshit and they damn well knew it, but he would be thrice damned if he allowed them to catch wind of his slightly wounded pride… irritating, _annoying_ couple that they were.

Without conscious effort, he pushed a little harder against the gas pedal, speeding past his adoptive siblings with ease. Through his peripherals, he caught Emmett and Rosalie frowning at him in their own vehicle, before the playful bear of a brother decided to accept the unissued challenge and turned Jasper's discontent into a race. Edward possessed the fastest car betwixt the five of them, matched only by any piece of machinery tinkered with by Rosalie Hale, but Edward and Alice were well aware of his displeasure with them—it was hard hiding anything from a telepath and a seer—and knew better than to further ignite his ire. While slower, Jasper had better reflexes and with a bit of maneuvering through the morning traffic, managed to park into a vacant spot with a few minutes to spare. Emmett, he knew, would demand a rematch after school.

The victory appeased him, albeit minutely, and he leaned against his McLaren, attempting to calm the spike of frustration he could not quite tamper down. He would not enter Forks High School—home of the Spartans… _yeehaw_—without his brethren, whether he found them to his liking or not; this farce was challenging in and of itself, he did not need the added punishment of doing it _alone_, regardless of his qualms.

Arms crossed, he allowed his hair to shield his eyes from the cattle—people, humans, _children_—that passed him by. The same three hundred and fifty-two teenagers drifted through the student parking lot, drowning him in their superficial emotions. Technically, this school held three hundred and fifty-_seven_ students in its roster, but as five of those were vampires merely posing as ordinary humans to integrate into society, Jasper hardly counted that total as accurate. The faces did not matter… well, they _did_, just not to him. Their names were not of importance, their favored foods and colors and music did not concern him. Even their emotional signatures mattered little, and their feelings flared and swirled around him, teasing and nagging and tugging, but never pulling him into their depths. The buzz of anticipation arose as a singular entity, shared throughout the throng of adolescents, thick enough to nudge his interest for a moment before he brushed away the notion.

Enough sulking. He straightened and forced himself to breathe, slow inhales and slow exhales, forced himself to shift his weight periodically, forced himself to appear _normal_. His breath halted when the familiar temptation scratched at his throat, and he reasoned that none of these creatures would bother to notice the stillness of his lungs. Another day, another failure, another tally mark on his scarred wall, but at least he would not rip these little fleshlings apart in a frenzy of thirst. Surely, that had to count for something. A particularly forceful gust wafted against him as the Sheriff's car parked a few feet away, and he sniffed instinctually.

He froze.

There was no school. There were no cars, no people, no emotions. The world had become a void, carving out the inessentials, leaving only himself and the small, unfamiliar brunette that had emerged from the Sheriff's car. An incessant ringing in his ears blocked out the sound of his kin parking beside him, blinding him to all else but her waterfall of hair and the intoxicating, mouthwatering scent that had drifted from her open window. She tasted delicious, even from a distance, her fragrance tangible and perfect and thick on his tongue. Fine wine. He salivated, venom pooling in his mouth in anticipation, a hungry anticipation these fragile humans would never know in their short lives. A growl tore from his esophagus as his body bowed, arched and finally crouched, a trained predator ready to pounce upon his unsuspecting prey.

A voice echoed in his mind. _'Jasper! Snap out of it, Jasper!'_

"_Holy shit, _dude! What the _fuck_ is wrong with him?" Amid the roar of his hunger, he heard Emmett.

"It's _her_. He wants _her_." It was Alice, he noted distantly.

"_Holy shit_," Emmett repeated. "I forgot how fucking strong he is. _Fuck_. Someone get his fucking legs."

"We're just lucky the humans are distracted." Rosalie, her voice wry.

Again, he heard Edward shouting at him, yelling into his cerebrum. _'Jasper! Think of Carlisle, think of Esmé… we're here for you, brother. Please.'_

It felt like an eternity before the haze faded. Slowly, _painfully_ slow in his opinion, he came to awareness, swallowing back another snarl that rumbled on the tip of his tongue. With dawning comprehension came the knowledge that he was on his back, pinned down by the massive Emmett, surrounded by his family, each wearing identical faces of concern and alarm. He fought for control, reigning in the bloodlust with every ounce of strength he possessed, refusing to inhale lest he tear Emmett to shreds and… what? What was he doing? Why had he…? He tasted their emotions out of habit, confusion pouring from his own wretched being as his mind finally calmed and settled. There was a combined sympathy flowing from them, worry and then relief following soon after.

The weight lifted from his chest when Emmett saw that he would no longer struggle, but Jasper made no move to stand. Instead, he blinked rapidly, staring past their knowing eyes and into the cloudy skies above them. What had possessed him to throw away everything, even for a moment, just to lap at some girl's neck like an animal? A girl he had never seen before? He had yet to _see her face_, and he had so easily pegged her as dinner. Shame warred with his need for composure, and he allowed himself a brief wallow of melancholy before he took Edward's offered hand, dusting off his shirt and jeans as a means of distraction. He looked at a point in the distance, somewhere over Alice's shoulder. "My apologies."

Emmett gave a toothy grin, always the first to forgive. "No sweat. Good thing that chick's got everyone all curious and shit, or we _really_ would've screwed the pooch on that one."

Jasper frowned. "Who?" The brunette? That beguiling temptress he wanted to… perhaps it was best to ignore any thoughts pertaining to that nameless, faceless bloodbag—_human_. She was a _human_. He had to remember that.

"The Sheriff's daughter," Emmett supplied, as if Jasper was interested. He _was_, but he was loathe to admit it. "Man, don't you listen to _anything?_"

"Gossip isn't my area of expertise," Jasper replied stiffly.

Emmett laughed and slapped Jasper on the back. "Hey, don't get all pissy on me, _Major_. I just took your old ass down."

Was that a challenge? Jasper allowed a mischievous smirk. "You caught me unawares, young'un," he quipped, falling into the game with ease. "What say you we make a wager on your chances when I'm in my proper state of mind?"

Before Emmett could accept—and he would, because he was Emmett—Alice grabbed Jasper's arm and tugged him along, smiling that impish smile of hers. "Don't you want to know about her?" she asked.

The others began to follow them, but he'd already turned his full attention to his sister, frowning darkly. "No. I _emphatically_ decline."

"You're not even a _little_ curious?" Alice pried.

Why was she pushing so hard? "No," he lied, and did not feel a _damned_ bit regretful for the falsehood.

"Could've fooled me," was Rosalie's jibe. That blonde banshee could be endearing in her own way when she felt the urge to be hospitable, but now was not, obviously, one of those times. They pushed past a group of girls in silence before she continued. "I don't want to think about what could've happened if we didn't make it here in time."

Jasper stopped himself from growling. Barely. "Then don't." He had zero patience, and she was getting on his nerves.

Alice was determined to keep his attention. "Her name's Isabella Swan," she began, and were he any less of a gentleman, he would have torn his arm away and left her there to mutter her useless information to someone who cared. As it stood, she was a beloved sister, and he could not very well behave so rudely towards her… regardless of her inconsideration. "She's seventeen, and she's just moved here from Philadelphia." The portion of him that kept an open ear to the information noted the city's name with interest. Edward and Alice had waltzed into his life in a small diner in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania decades ago, offering a reprieve from the misery his existence had become. He unconsciously wracked his memories for all that he could recall of the urban area, though it would do little good. It had more than likely changed in the years since he'd wandered through.

Alice continued to chirp about random nibbles of knowledge she knew of Forks' newest resident. "Her birthday's in a few days—the thirteenth—and it's going to be absolutely fabulous; we'll have a _huge _cake and Rose, please remind me to order that little blue dress we saw yesterday, you know, the one on page forty-seven? It'll be perfect for her." She did not pause or take a breath, as vampires had no use for either, but she was prattling on at speeds he'd never encountered before. The excitement bubbled from the tiny woman, affecting him. "We're going to be the best of friends, Jasper, so I need you to turn on that southern comfort of yours and reel her in." Ocher eyes fluttered at him. "_Please?_"

Emmett roared with laughter. "Southern Comfort is a _drink!_ Get it?" He cackled at his own joke.

Rosalie was tense beside them. "What are you _thinking,_ Alice? This can't possibly end well."

Jasper bristled at the tone, but kept his peace. There were more important things to worry about, such as this obsession with the new human—Isabella… a beautiful name, he admitted—Alice seemed to have garnered overnight. What had gotten into his sister? "Best friends?" he inquired. His frown deepened. "What on earth gave you this idea? And why am _I_ needed?" He bit back his pride. "I do not think I'm adequately suited to charm a potential playmate, dear."

Alice pouted. "I _saw_ it, Jasper."

Another surprise. How many of those will he experience today? "I beg your pardon?"

"You're the only one she'll be receptive to, at first." At his continued ignorance, she huffed, frustrated. "She's your _mate_, Whitlock, so go to class and _get her to like you_."


	2. The Second

**SPECIAL THANKS: **Everyone who reviewed, put this story on their alerts and favorites. Also, thank you, Whimsy, for always reading. Love._  
><em>

_Masquerade_

**THE SECOND**

She might have overdone it with the outfit.

Charlie Swan had not warned her about the dress code here. All he'd supplied was a simple, "There's no uniform, Bells, so you can wear whatever you want… just tone it down a bit, 'kay?" He must have been mistaken. He _had_ to have been, because men never paid attention to fashion, let alone notice what the kids wore nowadays. The blame for this debacle rested solely on her father's shoulders, and if one more person _stared_, like they were doing now, she would _not_ be held accountable for her actions. She could hear the whispers, but not the words, and claustrophobia started to cramp her muscles before she fought it back with annoyance. _Screw it. _What was wrong with them? _God_, these people wore khaki—_willingly_—and they were staring at _her_ like _she_ was the freak.

Was it is a crime to _not_ shop at the Gap around here? She'd taken extra care to choose her ensemble for the day, picking out a navy pleated skirt and matching vest over a white blouse with bohemian sleeves. Daddy-dearest had requested she _tone it down_, so she had, trying to have fun in the schoolgirl costume… but this was _not_ fun. Was it the socks? The skirt was a bit on the short side, but the socks preserved a bit of modesty, covering her from toes to thighs. Did black-and-white stripes not bode well? The loafers were brand new, purchased at a local thrift store, so it could not be those. Maybe it was the bowtie collar, or the bangles, or the eyeliner, or the pigtails, or just _her_, but whatever the fuck had gotten these assholes to stop in their tracks and gape at her so ardently, it sure as shit did not reveal itself to her. They were in for a rude awakening if _this_ offended their delicate sensibilities. This was the last—the absolute _last_—time she would take Charlie's advice when it came to her wardrobe. Damn, damn, _damn_ Charlie and his stupid man ways and his… _daddy-ness_.

Her shoulders hunched as she deposited her bag into the locker, her breath coming in short gasps. _Don't look at me. Don't look at me. Don't look, don't look, don't look, please, don't—_

No. She'd moved here to start a new life. She would not feel self-conscious. She _refused_. Head held high, she slammed her locker closed and marched to her first class, haughty and proud. Her stance did nothing to quell the gossiping students around her, and she would make it a point to bring her music player tomorrow to block out the chatter. If she could not hear it, she would not dwell on it, and if there was anything she'd inherited from her mother, it was the alarming ability to shut out the undesirables in her life.

The bell screeched as she reached Biology, and the echoing ring sent the mass of nosey kids scattering like roaches. The teacher, she noted with chagrin, had yet to arrive, which put a damper on her plan of quickly informing him of her recent enrollment—not that anything in this small town went by unnoticed—and, hopefully, procuring a seat at the back of the room. Unfortunately, bodies were already filing in, claiming chairs, and though she sorely wanted to escape into the shadows, the guidance counselor had instructed her to speak with each educator before each class; she was trying to be a good girl, trying to do the right thing, trying to abide by the rules, but if Mister Harrison did not arrive soon, she would probably forsake her own priorities and throw the rulebook out of the proverbial window. Disgruntled, she perched her backside on the instructor's unkempt desk, crossing her legs as she ignored the blatant staring from her peers.

In accordance with her rotten luck, Harrison arrived a mere second before the late bell rang, trudging through the door well after the students had already been seated and settled. He looked at her owlishly through his thick lenses, pausing at the threshold as if unsure how to proceed. She toyed with the barbell lodged through her tongue, biting down on the slim metal rod before she snapped at him. "Isabella Swan, I presume?" was the inquiry once he'd gathered his wits.

The barbell was released. "Bella," she corrected out of habit.

He nodded. "Yes, well…" He stared at her, as she had yet to vacate his desk. "Find a seat. I'm sure you were given your textbooks, correct?"

Did he not see it in her hands? Perhaps Four-Eyes needed a higher prescription. Again, she checked herself before speaking. "Looks like it." _'Easy with the sarcasm.'_

Harrison waved her away and like a good little girl, she hopped down from the wooden fixture, allowing him to access to his paperwork. Annoyance furrowed her brow; she could have easily snagged the desired seat in some dark corner when she'd had the opportunity, but because she was trying to behave, she'd waited for the disheveled teacher. For no reason. _'What a waste of time, bonehead.'_ She scanned the room, ignoring the eyes that followed her every move, every breath, every blink, and found one seat available. _'Leftovers. Wonderful.' _

She walked down the aisle, glancing over at the person she would have to share a long, wooden table with for the remainder of the year… and was pleasantly surprised. It seemed that she'd skipped over someone in her assessment, for this boy did not watch her as the others did. In fact, his gaze was transfixed on something outside of the window, his face hidden by a curtain of golden hair. He did not turn or acknowledge her when she sat beside him, though he must have known she was there, and for the first time since arriving in this mud puddle named Forks, Washington, she relaxed. If her new buddy wanted to stare out at the gray clouds all day, more power to him. She was infinitely grateful for the reprieve. Who knew? Perhaps he would frequent more of her classes, and that would mean one less pair of eyes to avoid.

She exhaled. It felt good to breathe again.

The lesson began once Professor Owl—her new nickname for Harrison—finally organized himself. He did not bother with the annoying Let's-Introduce-the-New-Girl crap she'd been dreading, which redeemed him a bit in her eyes, and dove right into instructing them to open their textbooks to a specific page. She did so, curious as she scanned the work and barely stifled a groan of displeasure; she _knew_ all of this already.

Owl rambled on about something, oblivious to her growing aggravation, and made lines on the chalkboard. "After you've finished reading pages two-thirty-five through two-forty-seven, and examined the diagrams, I want you to take a moment to look at the person next to you." He paused, whether for dramatic effect or simply for air, the world might never know. "That person is going to be your lab partner this year. Introduce yourselves, but mind your volume." Another pause, but this time, the room was buzzing with murmurs. "Your homework assignment is due first thing tomorrow: a paragraph summarizing the chapter."

Bella leaned back in her chair, affronted with Owl's method of teaching. A chapter, a conversation with a stranger, and a subpar homework assignment? Why had she stayed in Philadelphia so long? These Forks kids had it so _easy_, the bastards. If this was the core curriculum, she could drift by school in a happy haze of headphones, and still pass with flying colors. "This is a joke," she muttered, absently glancing to her left. Goldilocks had yet to move a muscle, to twitch… if she did not know any better, she would say he had yet to breathe, which was a preposterous notion. He pulled off the illusion brilliantly, still and statuesque as he continued to search for something beyond his reach through the panes of glass. She wondered what it was. "Find anything up there?" she teased. Perhaps she had been lulled by the comfort provided with his lack of attention towards her, but she found herself interested in his response.

He did not move, but he answered. "Not yet."

She'd expected 'Up where?' Some of her irritation melted away. "Hard to find anything in all that gray."

Again, he answered, but did not move. "Only if you're looking for blue."

She smiled, unable to help herself. "Any demons in your view?" It came out silly and forced but, _damn it_, she could not ignore a good rhyme.

He turned then, finally. Glimmering topaz swirled within the irises that bore into her, though they held none of the contempt she'd been surrounded with thus far. Her breath caught and stuttered. She should have left him alone, she reflected, because there was a reason a face like that was hidden from the world, _should_ be hidden from the world; a beauty such as his could not be duplicated or compared to that of mere mortals, inspiring unworthy humans to shy away. Normally, it rarely affected her when she stumbled across a handsome specimen of the male—or female—variety, for aesthetic perfection went hand-in-hand with vanity and arrogance, but this boy, this _man_ was unlike anyone she'd ever seen before. Those golden waves that fell to his firm jaw, those unusual eyes, those lips… he was a deadly combination.

"What would you know of demons?" he inquired, every syllable coated with rich, thick molasses.

She had to stop staring, or she would be no better than anyone else. Quickly, her eyes darted towards the textbook on her desk, but were helplessly drawn back to him seconds later. She had no control over her own hypocrisy. _Damn it_. "They eat babies," she blurted, instantly mortified, "and swim with mermaids." What the hell was wrong with her? Surely, his question was not a serious one, but she could have come up with a better answer than _that_. She cleared her throat and tried again. "And if you're bitchy, rude and crass, they'll light a fire in your ass." Much better.

Someone guffawed behind her. It hardly mattered as she stared at the corner of his mouth that twitched with amusement. She wondered what his smile would look like. "You're partially correct," he conceded. "I don't recall ever encountering any merfolk, however." He turned to the laughing boy—not a boy, a _bear—_behind him, still serious. "What about you, Emmett?"

Bear-Man was breathless, leaning against a tiny girl that should have, by all rights, collapsed under the gargantuan weight. When the one she assumed was Emmett failed to quell his booming laughter, the tiny sprite beside him answered in his stead. "No mermaids, but I do remember an ornery squid." Her eyes, Bella noted, were clear and light, like melted sunshine. "These two," said the spiky-haired pixie, gesturing between the blond and the bear still chuckling at her side, "pick fights with _everything_." A smile. "If there _were_ mermaids, I'm pretty sure they're not around anymore."

Bella returned the smile with one of her own. These people were easy to get along with, in spite of their unnatural beauty, and with their similarities, she wondered if they were all related; pale skin and yellow eyes marked them all as different in ways she could not fathom, but what did it matter? Genetic coding did not factor in to an interesting conversation. "Who won?" she asked, balancing her chair on its hind legs.

"The squid," was Tinkerbelle's response.

Emmett rolled his amber eyes. "Bullshit," he proclaimed, directing his gaze to Bella. "That fucker was in pieces by the time I was done with him."

"Mister Cullen!" interrupted Professor Owl. "Watch your language in my class!"

Emmett muttered an insincere apology, mirroring the mischievous smile on her face. "Don't listen to Alice," he warned in a stage whisper, leaning closer. _'Ah, so that's Tinkerbelle's name.' _The only one left was Goldilocks, and at this rate, she'd figure it out soon enough. "I _totally_ sushified that asshole."

"Sushified?" Bella muffled her giggles in her flared sleeves. She was trying her best not to make a spectacle out of herself, but if he kept talking, she did not think she could contain the humor threatening to bubble out of her chest. "Did you make a barbeque?"

Alice chimed in. "Of course not, silly. We don't eat seafood."

"Then what happened to all of the sushi?" Bella asked, striving for serious and snorting instead.

"The mermaids ate it."

She was going to get along with Tinkerbelle just fine. "Isn't that cannibalism?"

"Only half. Remember, they're part human, too." Damn Alice and her poker face.

"But they're still part fish." Bella pointed out.

"Not the part that's _eating_ it."

"What if they're a maidmer?"

Alice frowned. "So they'd have human legs and a fish head?"

Goldilocks decided to voice his opinion. "That would be a horrible inconvenience. They'd be slow and cumbersome… and unattractive." Bella watched as he visibly loosened, leaning an elbow on the table behind them. He twisted his tall frame sideways to encompass the three of them in his sights, topaz darting between Alice and herself. She mimicked his stance, still balancing her chair. "What would be the logic? Human legs underwater wouldn't serve a purpose."

Emmett scoffed. "Says _you_. I could out-swim anything underwater," he boasted with a cheeky grin.

"Then explain how that squid managed to swallow you," challenged Goldilocks, quirking a brow.

"Lucky shot," Emmett defended.

Bella wrinkled her nose. "Squid _eau du toilette_. Yuck."

Alice heartily agreed. "We tried scrubbing him down with bleach…" She frowned. "Esmé banned him from the house for weeks."

The bell rang, bringing their conversation to an end. Bella blinked a few times, as if awakening from a trance. How had time passed them by so quickly? A part of her wanted to stay right here, talking to these easygoing students, immersing herself in these fictional adventures their enthusiasm so easily brought to life. Her good mood soured as she collected her textbook and writing utensils, hesitant to stand. It was inevitable, but like a petulant child, she did not want to leave; what were the chances of encountering another Bear, Tinkerbelle and Goldilocks in her next class? Slim to none, she surmised, and tucked in her chair a little harder than necessary. "See you guys around," she mumbled, ready to bolt towards the door. If she did not look at them, they would not know how she longed to remain in their company, and she could retain her dignity. A clean break.

Alice, however, would have none of that. She danced ahead, intercepting Bella before she could escape. "We haven't been introduced yet!"

Bella tried to hide her pleasure. When did she become so desperate for attention? "But I already know you."

Alice raised an eyebrow as Emmett came up beside her, Goldilocks standing a little farther away. "You do?"

"Tinkerbelle," Bella said, pointing to the tiny girl. "Bear," she continued, pointing at Emmett, "and Goldilocks," she concluded, motioning towards the blond.

Emmett was laughing again, the sound thunderously loud, but she liked it. "Hear that, Jasper? _Goldilocks_."

_Jasper._ Her heart stuttered again. She approved of the name, and the man, entirely too much. "Shut it, Bear," Jasper tossed back in that drawl of his, and it was all she could do to keep her focus on the pixie standing before her.

"Ignore them," giggled Alice, smiling wide. "Would you like to join us for lunch? We promise not to eat any babies—"

"Or sushi!" Emmett threw in.

"—or sushi," Alice allowed, rolling her eyes.

Bella stomped down the giddiness that wanted to burst free. "Tell you what; you can eat whatever, or _whomever_ you want. Just keep the blood to a minimum. The smell makes me nauseous."

Alice wore a secretive grin, her lips curling over her teeth. "Deal."


	3. The Third

**NOTES: **As always, thanks to all who reviewed and put this on their favorites and alerts. Thanks to Whimsy, my buddy and beta. 

**SUGGESTION: **This story was written to, and goes incredibly well with, the song _Undisclosed Desires_, by Muse. _  
><em>

_Masquerade_

**THE THIRD**

"I like her," stated Emmett once they had reached the lockers.

Jasper snapped open the combination lock on his own little metal closet. "She thinks we're crazy."

"And?" Emmett threw the rest of his books on a shelf.

Jasper clenched his teeth. "She called me _Goldilocks_."

True, the nickname bugged him, but the ease of conversation had startled him more than anything else. How could that odd little human trick him so easily? It was enough of a trial sitting beside her, fighting the urge to steal a whiff of her as he had that morning in the parking lot. Alice's little declaration had sent him snarling halfway towards the house, but after Emmett and Edward had convinced him to calm himself, he'd relented.

Jasper Whitlock, however, would not take it lying down. No, in the time before the class bell sang its screeching melody, he'd plotted the many ways to drain Isabella Swan dry with minimal witnesses. Hell, he'd drain the entire _school_ dry and leave the delicious Miss Swan for dessert. Would he catch her in the lavatory, sneaking in as a blur of wind to pull her into a stall? She would put up a fight at first, but once he manipulated her emotions, she would be calm and complacent. He would be kind enough to let her enjoy her death, and she would be equally kind by allowing him to lap greedily at her neck, sipping of her sweet nectar until not a drop remained. It would have to be quick and sloppy, but he would drink his fill. Venom had pooled in his mouth at the mere thought.

Perhaps he'd surprise her at her locker. He could whisper sweet nothings in her ear, overwhelm her senses with lust and want, and lure her into a secluded area. There, he could take his time and savor the wine flowing through her veins. Oh, the possibilities… If he had a class with her, he could lock the doors and snap a few necks before she would have enough time to realize the trap she'd fallen into. He'd enjoy the bounty of her blood before gorging himself on the other students, filling himself beyond the point of contentment like a bear before hibernation. The barricaded classroom would become his personal lunchbox, centered around the sweet tart named Isabella Swan.

What if he followed her back to her home? It was no secret Charlie Swan kept late hours as the Sheriff, which promised him ample opportunity to sneak into the Swan residence. It had been a long time since his last Fuck 'n' Suck, decades… before Peter had found his mate, Charlotte, and they terrorized the human world under Maria's bloody flag. Perhaps it was time to pick up old habits and kill two birds with one stone. One should not fuck one's food, but after such a _long_ dry spell—

_'That's disgusting, Jasper!'_

Unfortunately, he'd gotten a bit carried away in his crimson fantasy; Edward saw every scenario flit through his brain, in high quality resolution, and brilliantly suggested Jasper stay home for the day. Never mind that Jasper, himself, had been ready to run far away from Forks High School, appearances be damned, but Alice refused to allow him the escape.

She said she believed in him, and like a fool, he allowed himself to believe in his little sister.

If he did not breathe, he could not smell her, which was the only reason the strange human had survived that lesson. If he did not look at her, he would not be tempted to sniff her as an animal would upon encountering a strange new presence, and thus, allow the strange human to survive that lesson. The intriguing symphony of her emotions had nearly unraveled his progress when she decided to claim the seat beside him, his gift of empathy becoming a curse as each new tendril licked at him playfully; annoyance had been the most prominent, followed by a thin veil of intrigue… and then fear.

A fear so thick, it sent shivers dancing along the cool marble of his flesh. She hid it far and deep, shoving it into the recesses of her subconscious, but he felt it all the same and the magnitude confused him. Had she sensed the unnatural presence of the undead? Some humans, he knew, were sensitive to the supernatural, could see behind the façade they tried so hard to maintain, and he wondered what the hell Alice had been thinking. To make matters worse, the stupid girl had _relaxed_, eventually goading them into an easy conversation with a nonsensical topic, the details of which hedged closer to reality than she probably believed. The more they spoke, the more he found _himself_ relaxing, and the fear that seemed to gnaw at her heels lessened. She was odd, she was easy to amuse, she was complex and simple, but never did he forget just how wonderful she would taste if his teeth found the steady pulse beneath her ashen pallor.

Then Alice had invited her to their table—did she realize the irony of bringing a human to the coven of vampires for lunch? Isabella Swan had distracted him once, saving her own hide in the process… could she do so again?

He slammed his locker shut. Five hours after their initial encounter, and he was _still _agonizing over it. Why was everyone—apart from Rosalie—so incessant that he grit his teeth and trudge through this? Was this some test? The ultimate temptation had presented itself, in a package adorned with mahogany tresses and bizarre clothes, and his lackadaisical kin had spontaneously named her his mate. His _mate_. Was _this_ the joke that had entertained Edward and Alice so thoroughly? One did not simply choose a partner on a whim, especially one that would sooner be his _meal_ than his _mate._ If he had to endure this for much longer, he would fail this test—_horribly, brutally, and with enough blood to paint the halls in its rich hue_—and enjoy every moment of his failure.

"Two hundred bucks says you won't eat the burgers at lunch." It was Emmett's voice, breaking him away from his dark pondering.

Jasper scowled. "That's disgusting."

"Three hundred."

"Not enough." Human food smelled worse than anything on Earth. He could only imagine how violently his body would revolt against that garbage touching his tongue.

Emmett's grin was slow and thus, entirely suspect. "Three fifty, and if you swallow, you can wash it down with Bella."

"_Emmett_," came the low growl, alerting them to Rosalie's presence a mere moment before she whacked Emmett, _hard_, upside his noggin. Only Rosalie could knock her mate down a few pegs, though the balance between them never shifted or toppled. Much like Alice and Edward, they complimented each other perfectly; Emmett was strong with an easy demeanor, whereas Rosalie was defensive and quick to anger. Fire and ice. Jasper did not think he would ever comprehend it, regardless of how he many times he'd watched their interactions in the past. "He's already drooling after her. Don't make it worse."

Emmett rubbed his scalp. "I was just messin' around." The giant vampire pouted like a wounded puppy and was rewarded with a kiss from his lady love.

Jasper would _never_ understand it.

Once Edward and his minx of a mate decided to join them, they strolled through the herd of cattle—_humans_, damn it,_ humans_—towards the cafeteria. The monotony threatened to drive him insane, but he played his part: grab a tray, pile on random bits of filth, sit and then stare at the vile combination until the bell rang. He leaned back in his chair, glaring at the slop on his plate. Everything seemed to cater to that infernal bell. What if he broke it? Would he be allowed to go home _then_? He made the mistake of taking an involuntary breath, trying to soothe his frazzled nerves.

She was close. _Too _close. Her smell—_her_, only _her_—ensnared his senses. Her blood sang for him, called to him, beckoning him towards his destruction. He tensed, hunching over as that maddening fragrance stole his logic, stole his ability to control his baser instincts. His eyes snapped towards the succulent morsel, standing in line with a tray in her hands, completely oblivious to the ache in his throat that begged for a taste of her.

A large, meaty palm slapped over his face, covering his mouth and nose. An arm kept him anchored to his seat, and Jasper struggled briefly, intent on claiming her. Rabid with hunger, his lodged his teeth into the hand that held him at bay, and he was answered with a swift punch to his abdomen. Jasper snarled against the appendage and ripped away at the cold, unyielding grip, chomping and hissing and growling in his hysteria. Another blow slammed into his side, knocking a little bit of sense into him. The tunnel vision fizzled around the edges. _Emmett_. Of all the Cullens, of all the vampires he'd ever come across, Jasper knew of only one that could smear the walls with his venom if he was not careful, only one that could overpower an army with brute strength alone… and only one that cared enough to snap him out of his vermillion fog, even when he'd torn away a chunk of flesh.

As he had before, Jasper struggled to reign in his dark lust, focusing on the foreign venom on his lips, the golden eyes that surrounded him, and the soothing mantra Edward repeated in his head. Sanity caged the animal that fought against its leash, thrashing like a newborn. The altercation took no more than a second, too quick for a human to detect, but it was far too long in his opinion.

Once it was assured he would not spiral out of control again, Emmett released him, and Jasper swelled with shame upon seeing the damage he'd done. "My apologies," he told his brother, sincere and remorseful.

Emmett rolled his eyes. "That shit hurts like a _bitch_," he whined, cradling his ravaged hand. "Eat a burger and I'll forgive you."

Opportunistic asshole. What was this recent obsession with burgers, and Jasper eating them? "Fine." Jasper wiped the venom from his chin, straightening his clothes as if nothing out of the ordinary had occurred. "It couldn't taste any worse than you," he quipped.

Emmett flipped him off. Good. It meant all was well between them.

Rosalie, however, was not so forgiving. She was protective of her family, even more so with her mate, and she leveled Jasper with a fierce glare. Were they not in such a public setting, he was sure she would have tried to inflict as much damage upon him as he'd done to Emmett, which was understandable. He schooled his features into a farce of apathy, allowing the chit her anger. "This is ridiculous," she bit out. Her words were directed towards their sister, but there was not a doubt that her acidic tone was reserved for him alone. "I don't care if she _is_ his mate or not, he's going to end up killing her and then we'll be _screwed_."

Jasper bristled at the reminder. _Mate_. They were throwing that loathsome word around too often. "She is _not_," he stated, resisting the urge to growl at her.

Alice was exasperated. "She _is_, Jasper. You just have to—"

Fear gripped him, pushing against him with a ferocity that startled him. Alice's words were lost. Where the hell had that spike of terror come from? His eyes scanned through the crowd of teenagers hovering by the lunch line, spotting her instantly.

"Jasper?" Alice was worried, but his gaze was riveted on another brunette.

Her strange attire set her apart instantly. A boy he did not know was standing behind her, whispering to her, leaning entirely too close for a casual acquaintance. Nothing of importance, hardly worth her irrational fright. Jasper heard some vague references to extracurricular activities and something to do with pizza. A tremor of rage flirted through him when the boy threw his arm around the immobile Isabella Swan, who snapped out of her self-induced paralysis and threw down her plate of food. Her elbow jerked into the boy's stomach in the same instant, a reflexive maneuver she followed with a harsh knee to the pelvis. Leaves of lettuce and golden fries flew through the air as the boy crumbled onto the floor, his hands covering his abused groin, a whimper choking in his esophagus. "_Don't_ _touch me_," she spat. Her hands were shaking, her breath was short, but she stood and glared down at the male with pure hatred.

Jasper kept himself from gaping. His rage ebbed into disbelief. Then muted pride… and an amusement he could not deny. He laughed, his chuckles intermingling with Emmett's as they echoed throughout the silent cafeteria. The humans were stunned, stricken mute, and the table of vampires erupted into a chorus of rambunctious humor. As one, the Cullens applauded Miss Swan, Emmett's cheers becoming the loudest of them all. To his great surprise, Jasper spied Rosalie with a wry smirk on her face.

When Alice twirled away to retrieve Bella, Emmett was giddy with excitement. "Aw shit, dude. Did you _see_ that?" His smile was wide, his amber eyes bright on Jasper. "Hurry the fuck up, Jazz. She's gonna be a kickass vampire and I can't _wait_ for a new little sister."

Jasper's good mood soured. The humor was gone, and though Emmett was just being Emmett, he could not help the nagging resentment towards his brother.


	4. The Fourth

**SPECIAL THANKS: **To everyone who reviewed, put this story on Alerts and Favorites. And, as always, my dear beta-buddy Whimsy.

**WARNING: **There are some elements in this chapter that may not bode well with some readers. They involve very sensitive subject matters, and as a writer with first-hand knowledge of aforementioned topic, I will understand if it is uncomfortable or exceptionally hard to read. It was hard to write.

_Masquerade_

**THE FOURTH**

_"Relax, baby."_

_ A hand on her thigh. Rough fingertips snagging on thin elastic. The sound of fabric tearing against her skin. An unwelcome breeze drifting across her breasts._

A strong arm slung itself around her shoulders. "We're heading out for pizza after school. Wanna come?"

_Fire roared through her belly, her body screaming in tandem with her cries as she struggled, balking and rebelling against the wall of flesh that would not release her. The grip on her neck tightened, crushing her windpipe._

"No," she murmured. The arm would not dislodge itself. The boy would not leave her alone.

_"God, I love it when they fight back." He grunted, and smacked her when she bit his arm in protest. Broken glass resumed its assault in her abdomen._

He would not let her go.

_"I love it when they fight back."_

_ "… love it when they fight back."_

_ "… when they fight back."_

_ "… fight back."_

Fight back. Every nerve screeched, fueling the molten steel clawing through her veins. A ghost was screaming in her ears, ringing, echoing, devastating. Her muscles twitched and tightened, coiled to strike, and her limbs took over, warring against the intrusion, fighting against the unwanted touch. Her heart threatened to burst from her chest, tripping over its staccato beat as she turned and threw her strength into her knee, downing the faceless male. "_Don't touch me,_" she spat, trembling from head to toe—mind, body and spirit turbulent. Breathing was a chore.

Laughter. The blood-red panic receded enough for the sound of laughter to break through, followed by distinct clapping and… was that _Emmett?_ She had seen neither hide nor hair of the trio since Biology, and though she had searched for any trace of yellow in the crowd, she had not found them upon entering the cafeteria. Angela Weber, a helpful girl with a bookish grin and the height of an Amazon, was kind enough to indulge her desire for information, and quickly became another ally; the Cullens—as they were called collectively, though there was one Rosalie _Hale _and Jasper's last name was Whitlock—were the adoptive children of one Doctor Carlisle Cullen and his wife, Esmé. According to Angela, they were intensely private, which made the lunchtime invitation a rare treat.

Bella had suggested she open an "Ask Angela" corner, and charge people for her knowledge. Angela had giggled and called her strange. If nothing else, Angela was in a number of her classes, and easily deflected Bella's natural ability to get lost, trip over her own feet, and run into inanimate objects. Perhaps she would ask if the invitation could be extended to Angela. After all, if she was going to make friends in this school—like Charlie and Renéeso dearly wanted—she did not want to alienate one for the other, regardless of how much fun it was to talk of sushi and clouds.

Before she could check her assessment, Tinkerbelle floated into her sights, in that odd, ballerina-esque grace she was coming to associate with Alice Cullen. "Good job," she complimented, her sunshine eyes gleaming with approval. "If I asked you to sit with us, would you feed me to the sharks?"

Bella shook her head. "Could I bring a friend? She eats cow babies."

"They're a little bland, but filling." Alice smiled. "I'm sure we can make room for her. Who is she?"

"Angela Weber," Bella stated with pleasure.

Alice nodded. "You have excellent taste in humans." There was a playful air about her, like a child who knew more than she let on. "Why don't you grab yourself another plate and get settled? I'll go fetch her." She paused, watching something Bella could not see, before the smile slipped back into place. It was only a second, but it was enough to shift the atmosphere. "On second thought, why don't we just leave her be?"

Bella frowned. "Why?"

Carefully, Alice slipped an arm around hers, steering her towards the Cullens that awaited them. Unlike with the boy, there was no impulse to wrench herself away from the contact, though the chilly flesh sent a shiver down her spine. Why was she so cold? Sure, Forks was not a sunny paradise, but skin that frigid did not seem healthy. Was she anemic? "If we bring her over, she'll stare at Ben the whole time. Miserable people don't make for good conversationalists." Ben? Who was Ben? "Benjamin Cheney," Alice answered. What…? How did she…? "Angela's had quite the crush on him," she continued as they sat at the round table. "But their height difference keeps her from saying anything. Sad isn't it? They'd make a lovely couple."

Bella did not know which was more disturbing: Alice practically reading her mind, or Alice knowing so much about her new friend. It was probably a small-town thing—with a little over three hundred students, it had that everybody-knew-everybody feel—so she did not dwell on it, and settled into her seat, smoothing out her skirt as an afterthought.

"That shit was fucking _awesome_," gushed Emmett, immediately making her feel welcomed. He held up his gigantic hand and she obliged him with a high-five. "You whipped that Newton kid's ass like butter."

She shrugged. "It's a shame I didn't have toast."

"Or jelly," chimed in Alice, leaning against a boy with bronze hair she did not know. His irises were a shade lighter, a paler yellow, so he must be a Cullen… but the way he placed a soft kiss against Alice's temple was not, in anyway, a sign of brotherly affection. Step-siblings in a relationship? Were the similar eyes just a coincidence? Whatever the case may have been, she could hardly judge them, let alone care; they could do whatever the hell they wanted, as long as they did not piss her off in the process. In the mean time, she would have to come up with a name for the unnamed male, as no one had deigned to introduce both he and the blonde that hovered close to Bear. Perhaps Peter Pan? Bella nodded and smiled to herself, pleased. Tinkerbelle and Peter Pan. Wendy ditched his happy ass in the end, anyway.

Emmett grinned. "We could split him open. If we let the blood sit for a bit, it'll be just like jam."

Bella wrinkled her nose. "Yuck. It'll just smell worse."

"The blood?" inquired Peter Pan, his voice quieter than the rest. "Humans can't smell blood." He was frowning at her. Peter Pan did not frown, and she was tempted to switch his name to Grinch. She resisted. Tinkerbelle looked beautiful _in_ green, not _with_ green.

Bella frowned right back, though she probably seemed as if she'd swallowed a lemon. Which was not true, as she enjoyed lemons, and would never disrespect them by scrunching her face thusly. "Coming from a flying twelve-year-old, I don't think you're an expert on humans, Peter. It smells like rusty nails in my mouth, and makes me want to puke until my throat bleeds, so that I can puke again."

Peter Pan seemed even more confused. "Peter?"

"Peter Pan," Bella clarified.

Alice giggled with understanding. "I'm Tinkerbelle," she explained to her Peter, who smiled in response.

The blonde she had yet to identify rolled her aureolin eyes and scoffed. "This is a joke." Her voice dripped with disdain. "The _human_ is giving us pet names."

_'Buzzkill.' _Bella became apprehensive immediately, bristling at the tone. "I _was_ going to call you Sleeping Beauty," she began, and it was true, since the bruised skin beneath the pale goddess' eyes—yet another trait shared by the Cullens—were darker than the rest, but she would _not_ give this snapping harpy the satisfaction. "Now, though, I think I'll just go with _Bitch_ instead."

The drama queen stood in a blur, her chair clattering to the floor, forgotten. If she was trying to be intimidating, she was failing. Horribly. "You'd sooner be our food than our friend, _child_. I am _not_ the one to play games with."

Perhaps she should have gone to sit with Ask Angie. "I bet I could play the flute up your ass." It would be good practice. When was the last time she'd touched an instrument?

Bitchy-Boo chuckled, a cruel and terrible sound. "You have _no_ idea what you're getting into. Life isn't a fairytale, little girl."

Bella scowled. "No," she spat, her ire flaring. Against all reason, she found herself rising from her seat, glaring at the other girl with indignation. She was shorter, but it would hardly matter if she jumped across this table and bashed the blonde's face into the floor. Being the Sheriff's daughter definitely had its perks. "It sucks and then you die, so you can shove your holier-than-thou _bullshit_ and get the _fuck_ over it." She was yelling. She was not supposed to yell. It was against the rules, and she was trying to be a good girl. A _good _girl for her daddy and her mommy back in Philadelphia. A _good girl_, damn it. "I don't give a _shit _about your Sally Sobstory because, guess what? _Everyone has one_. Cry me a river, slit your wrists, but keep your piss-poor attitude to yourself and back the _fuck off!_" She was practically snarling. _Good girl. Good girl. Good girl._

For the second time, the cafeteria was plunged into silence. The entire student body had front row seats to this Shakespearean tragedy of friendship lost before it was found, and the attention made her acutely aware of the gazes fixated on their little corner. Charlie would _not_ be pleased. Maybe she would make a nice pot roast. Did he still like pot roast? It had been several years, after all… A deep, hoarse laughter shattered the uneasy quiet, and all eyes were drawn to its source.

Jasper Whitlock, her cloud-searching lab partner with a poker face like no other, and that toe-curling accent, was beside himself.

Her pulse fluttered. His face was breathtaking, but his smile? _God_, his smile… She wanted to bottle it in an old mayonnaise jar with a leaf and a twig to recreate its natural habitat, and poke holes in the lid so that it would not wither and die from suffocation. What would she feed it? They did not eat seafood… would he enjoy some pot roast? She did not think she could get her hands on any babies, human or otherwise, but what if he did not like pot roast? Charlie was a steak-and-potatoes man—although, quite frankly, he'd eat anything as long as he did not have to make it himself—and Jasper did not seem like those tofu-eating vegetarians she'd come across far too often in the city… No, definitely pot roast. And a beer. Charlie could bond with it over their meal, and she'd introduce it as "Jasper's Smile" and her father would allow her to keep it on her window sill.

"_Brava,_" said Jasper, his voice still shaking with mirth. "_Bellisima brava_."

Shit. That accent and… _fuck_. Was that Spanish? _Double_ fuck. It was too much. She knew she was blushing, could feel the heat rushing to her face. With the adrenaline dissipating, claustrophobia began to set in. Slowly, she retrieved her discarded chair and sat, willing her hands to still in her lap. Like a good girl. '_Too much_._'_ Sensory overload. _Emotional _overload. That touchy-feely boy, then Bitchy-Boo, coupled with hours of walking through curious, contemptuous eyes… the stress was reaching a fever pitch. Chatter erupted all around her, but all she could hear was the blood roaring in her ears. Her hands refused to stop quaking.

She should have known better than to leave her medication at home, but Charlie wanted his baby girl to be the American dream so _badly_, and Renée had put so much faith in this move to Forks, hoping that a change from the shitty city would help. Open air, free of pollution, birds singing and all of that Disney crap. How could she disappoint them? How could she _not_ try?

Fuck. _Fuck_. She could not see. The navy skirt had disappeared, replaced with pitch-black ink and shimmering stars that kept teasing her with their fading light. She needed to calm down, _right now_, before she made a fool of herself. _Breathe_. Why was it so hard to inhale? Panic blossomed, surging past her defenses and engulfing her in a vacuum that threatened to eat her alive. _Breathe_. She was at a school, with less than a fourth of the student population than the public school she'd attended back home. Less noise, less eyes, less whispers. This was supposed to be a cakewalk, not a meltdown waiting to happen. _Breathe. _If and when she managed to soothe her quivering nerves, she was going to strangle Bitchy-Boo for triggering another episode.

"_My Bella-bear… God, if only I had… my baby…" Her mother embraced her, and cried harder when she flinched away._

Breathe. Just breathe.

"_I love it when they fight back."_

Breathe. Breathe. Do not concentrate on the darkness creeping in; do not think of anything beyond the here and now. Cullens. Sushi. Clouds. Shades of yellow: Ecru. Flavescent. Flax. Fulvous. Gamboge. Gold. Breathe.

"_Lucy in the sky, with diamonds…" drifted in through the cheap speakers, drowning out her voice as it shrieked for help from someone. Anyone. The haunting melody was fitting; he did so enjoy his hallucinogens. Used to tell her how he imagined himself in a spectrum of colors, each dancing around him in a joyous promenade. She thought it was beautiful, until the only color she could see was the red that would stain her nightmares forever after. Could the neighbors not hear her screaming? Was this whole fucking city deaf? "Cellophane flowers of yellow and green… towering over your head…"_

"Shit," Emmett swore. "I think you broke her, Rose."

"_Look for the girl with the sun in her eyes…"_

Breathe. Breathe. Don't think. Breathe.

"…_and she's gone."_


	5. The Fifth

****NOTES: ****You know that little bar of buttons and bullshit to the right of this? Yeah, it's a pain in my ass. Formatting _nightmare._ Fuck that bar.

**SPECIAL THANKS: **To you guys, for reading, and sustaining my feedback addiction. To Whimsy, for being the coolest chica around._  
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_Masquerade_

**THE FIFTH**

Carlisle Cullen was the eldest and, subsequently, the head of their coven. He preceded the second oldest, Jasper, by two hundred—and one—years, and had, long ago, sat among the most powerful of them all on a throne of his own, a yellow-eyed vampire beside the unfathomable Volturi. Preferences aside, he was an enigma to the vampiric nation; his incredible compassion would not allow him to drink from a human, and though he had ample opportunity, a wealth of power and the world at his feet, he spurned everything in search of the very human desire for a family. He was different, he was strange and his ability to ignore the scent of blood—as a _doctor_, no less—was absolutely baffling.

But where most of their kind would find faults and weaknesses, Jasper saw strength.

Carlisle was intensely protective of his family, fiercely loyal to those he considered his own, and possessed a kindness most would never experience, whether they be human or vampire. When Alice and Edward Cullen had approached him in a diner somewhere in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania so many decades ago, the man—the _monster—_once known as The Major had not known what to believe. Why would he believe the unbelievable story of a life without misery staring him in the eye every time the thirst took its hold? Why should he go with them? He'd heard stories of the vegetarians, but with the millions of bloody, jagged tally marks accrued over the years, how was he supposed to wipe the slate clean? Alice, sweet little Alice, had convinced him to try… and one look at Carlisle, one brief moment to immerse himself in the unconditional love that radiated endlessly from the coven's patriarchal figure, was enough for Jasper to stay. To _try_.

The others—Alice, especially, who had no memory of her human life—saw him as a surrogate father. The role seemed to come so naturally to him, and he enjoyed playing it, but Jasper never saw Carlisle as such; he respected the man, admired him for his strength, his tolerance, his unwavering kindness, and Carlisle never treated him as a son. A lesser. In return, he gave Carlisle his gratitude and allegiance, and the silent promise to protect the family with his life.

After sixty years of existing thusly, after all the progress he'd made, Jasper _still_ felt like he was "runnin' to daddy" for help.

'_You're never too old for advice, Jazz.'_ The familiar voice in his mind was distinctly amused.

Edward sat beside him in the study as they waited for Carlisle to finish his business on the phone. They could hear a woman prattling on about paperwork, the results of some tests, something about prescriptions. Jasper listened, still unsure as to why Edward had decided to join him for his talk with the eldest Cullen; there was nothing to hide—if anything, Edward knew as much as he did, if not more so because of Alice's visions—but Edward had not explained the nature of his company. He simply stated that he needed to speak with Carlisle as well, and that Jasper needed to hear it too.

The name _Isabella Swan_ was spoken through the telephone. Jasper tensed, clenched his teeth, struggled not to rip the arms of the chair off… then forced himself to relax, inhaling deeply through his nose. Carlisle repeated the name, and Jasper repeated the cycle. _'Pathetic.'_ The seconds ticked by like hours, and each one that passed reminded him of why he was here in the first place.

After that disastrous performance in the cafeteria, the human—_Bella_—had disintegrated into a ball of panic, physically conglobating before his eyes, crumbling the smidgeon of pride her impressive display with Rosalie had nudged awake. That spirited little morsel had curled into herself, hyperventilating, shaking, rocking back and forth in her chair like a child, while they hid the strange development from prying eyes. It was comical, in retrospect, how helpless the vampires had been; Alice had whispered soothing nonsense, Emmett tried to needle an apology out of Rosalie—who refused, of course— and Edward had frowned as if the power of his confusion could settle the human's turbulent emotions. In the end, it was Jasper that used his ability to drown the human—_Bella_—in an artificial calm, and it had worked marvelously.

His influence had been too strong on a stressed nervous system, and Bella Swan had promptly collapsed into a deep slumber. Had it been intentional? Certainly not. Had he known he would be tasked with carrying—_carrying!_—her to the school's nurse, he would have left her to tremble like a withered leaf, Alice's incessant prodding be damned.

Why the others thought sending him, alone, with the fragile creature was a brilliant idea, he would never know. It was dangerous and foolhardy, and if he drank her dry, he claimed no responsibility; he warned them, he threatened them, he _growled_ and cursed at them, to no avail. _Imbeciles. _Fortunately—or _un_fortunately?—Lady Luck must have favored the young Swan, for he managed to contain himself long enough to deposit the girl in the school infirmary with little trouble, staying long enough to explain the circumstance… and, because the world conspired against him, to quell the terrible screams that escaped the little brunette in her fitful dormancy. Why he stayed, he could not say, but every time she screeched some incomprehensible babble, he covered her in a blanket of peace, hoping the superimposed emotions would stop those loud, _horrible_ sounds she kept making.

Thankfully, Charlie Swan made an appearance, and after a brief introduction—and an expression of gratitude Jasper did not feel he deserved—he left the girl and her father to rejoin his brethren.

"Jasper?" It was Carlisle, snapping him from his reverie. Carlisle must have said the name several times to bear such a worried frown.

"My apologies," offered Jasper, annoyed at himself for losing focus.

Carlisle's attention was rapt and sharp. "Is everything all right?"

_No_, he wanted to say. _Nothing_ was all right. How did he explain this all-consuming thirst? How did he define that sinful, delicious redolence, stronger than anything he'd ever encountered, strong enough to bring him to his knees? Twice, he'd reverted into a snarling, mindless beast, ready to tear apart any- and everyone in his path for a taste of that sweet blood. It beckoned him like a siren's song, twisting and pulling him in painful ways, changing him irreparably. How did he explain that sixty-odd years of self-restraint had been for naught?

'_You could start with the truth.'_

'_Goddamn it, Edward.'_ Infuriating telepath. If he had wanted Edward's opinion, he would have asked for it.

'_I could share your memories with Carlisle,' _offered the vampire beside him, a hint of humor tinting the thought. Apparently, blatant rudeness and profanity did not dissuade him. He heard Edward laugh, both aloud and in his head. _'You'd have to do more than that to discourage me, brother. If I can survive near decapitation because of your hunger, I can handle your mood swings.'_

Jasper sighed, deflating in his chair. The smart ass had a point. _'Get on with it, then,'_ he agreed darkly. The quicker, the better; there was a herd of deer somewhere in the woods with his name written all over them.

The shifting in his mind was uncomfortable, like a stranger browsing through one's unmentionables, but he bore it. This was Edward, not a stranger, and he would not attack his kin—again—simply because he was on edge. More shifting, a dull hum growing, ringing in his ears. It buzzed about, maddening, a black fly of dread waiting for a swatter to end its miserable existence. He wanted to thank Edward for making this easier, and he wanted to kill him for invading what should have been his, and his alone.

"I see," was Carlisle's response to the surge of information, golden eyes unfocused in thought. It was a neutral response, but Jasper could feel the worry seeping through, the clinical detachment Carlisle strove for and failed to achieve because one could not lie to an _empath_, damn it, and Jasper's unease doubled. The room was getting smaller by the second.

"There's another matter," Edward added aloud, directing his statement to both men. "I can't hear her voice." That did not make any sense. "Her _thoughts_," he amended.

Jasper frowned deeply. A small suspicion pricked at the edges of his consciousness, one without words or structure, and it nagged at him. He felt like he _should _know. This, at least, explained why Edward had wanted to accompany him to speak with Carlisle. Human or vampire, Edward had never encountered a mind he could not read and shuffle through as easily as a book. The answer was there, just out of reach. What did it mean?

'_I don't know,'_ Edward answered the unspoken question, just as unsettled as he.

Carlisle folded his hands together on the wooden desk, a line flirting with his brow. "This is most unusual," he began, low and contemplative. He let out an unnecessary breath. "But it is not uncommon. You both are well aware of the gifts some of our kind possesses." Jasper withheld a scoff out of respect; as the owner and manipulator of a _gift_, he knew all too well. "While these abilities can manifest in their human life, usually, these gifts are realized once they become a vampire. It's not surprising, considering humans are not capable of fully utilizing their cerebral potential, and can only do so when venom awakens the dormant neural receptors. Your Bella, however…" Carlisle looked at him, as if searching for some unfathomable secret. Jasper bristled at the "_Your_". When the fuck had she become _his_ Bella? "There's a _very_ good probability that she is special."

"As in gifted?" Edward asked.

Carlisle nodded. "We should not jump to conclusions." The line in his brow deepened. "But it is very rare. You see, all human beings _can_, in theory, possess extraordinary abilities, but because of the molecular components in human blood as opposed to our venom-laced blood, they cannot obtain them. The rare instances in which a human can develop these gifts are usually attributed to a significant change in the chemistry of the brain, and what signals are sent to its receptors. Heightened, sustained and prolonged periods of stress," he listed, as if reading from a clipboard, "are large factors. Physically or emotionally traumatic experiences, extensive drug use… any one of these could alter or change how the human brain operates." He paused. Another stare was directed towards Jasper. "I met with your Bella this afternoon. A charming young lady," he added with a small smile. "Sheriff Swan did not go into a lot of detail, I'm afraid, but his daughter has quite the list of prescriptions. Unfortunately, she failed to take any this morning, which resulted in her episode today. The hospital in Philadelphia will fax over her medical history tomorrow, so I won't have any more information till then."

"What do her prescriptions have to do with anything?" inquired Jasper petulantly, though he knew. A part of him balked at his own childishness. It was aggravating how Carlisle kept referring to Bella as _his_, as if he bought into Alice's silly notion, and it made him distracted. The lesson on the human mind was not entirely uninspiring, and he understood it perfectly fine, but there was a difference in understanding and actually _caring_. The problem here was that he _did_ care, he wanted to know more, and he did not _want_ to know anymore, because this whole thing was horseshit of the foulest kind and that goddamned human should not smell so fucking good.

Edward snorted.

Jasper conjured up the image of himself naked in a shower.

Edward choked on his own disgust.

"Besides the connection between her medication and potential abilities, I thought you might be interested to know that she was in good health when she went home today." Carlisle, as usual, took no offense to Jasper's misplaced irritation. "Which brings me to the _other_ matter at hand."

'_About fucking time.'_

'_Stop pretending you weren't interested.'_

'_Goddamn it, Edward!'_ Do not kill chair. Do not kill _brother_.

Edward was trying—and failing—to stifle a chuckle. _'It's actually rather adorable. You're swimming in denial if you think you're fooling anyone, Jazz.'_

He did not find it funny. _At all. 'One more word, and no more rolling in the hay for you, young'un.' _

'_Rolling in the hay? Young'un? You're age is showing.'_

Jasper conjured up the image of himself naked in a shower again.

'_Cheat.'_ Edward's humor had dissipated.

Mission accomplished. _'Punk.'_ Edward should know these things by now; Jasper _always_ got the last word.

Carlisle ignored the odd gurgle that arose with Edward's renewed disgust. "The bloodlust you've experienced today happens to all of us at one point or another, Jasper. I'm actually a bit surprised you haven't encountered it before." A pause. "Are you familiar with the term 'Singer'?"

"_Cantante…" _

_Cold lips tugging on his ear, biting down on the sensitive cartilage. Long, dark hair tickling his jaw, filling his nose with her scent. _

"_Sing for me… Slaughter them for me…"_

_Red nails, caked with blood and venom, clawing new trails on his flesh. Red lips, whispering words of passion in a language he was slowly coming to understand. Red tongue, still hot and sweet from her hunt, licking at his perspiration. She loved red, breathed red, lived red. She wanted more, demanded more, and because she said she loved him, he would give her more. There would never be enough red to spill, to give, but he would try._

"_Slaughter for me."_

_She always looked lovely in red._

'_Jasper?'_ Edward seemed worried, none of the playful banter evident.

He shook away the memories. Hid them somewhere he could not find them again. "I've heard of it," he admitted. Jasper did not recognize his own voice.

Carlisle continued. "Just as humans are selective of their partners, vampires are even more so. We seek mates who are compatible with us on a subatomic level. It is apparent even without the altered blood chemistry, and humans exhibit this behavior as well, though they have lost the use of the volmeronasal organ. However, as venom reanimates dead cells, vampires regain the ability to detect the pheromones in their ideal companion. Alive or undead, we still produce them, and while it is a matter of _reproductive _compatibility for humans, it is an entirely different one for us." There was a small smile tugging at the corners of Carlisle's mouth. "Humans have dating, we have our nose. When we find the one that fits, we find our mates, but in the event that one party happens to be a human, the reaction is… well." The smile was growing. "It is what you experienced today, Jasper. Many do not realize that it is a mate's call, not a dinner bell, and never realize their folly until it is too late. You are fortunate to have met your Singer." The smile faded into a frown. "Jasper?"

But Jasper had already stormed away.


	6. The Sixth

**NOTES: **Sorry for the delay. Chapter eleven was giving me a hard time, and my muse got distracted with another Jasper/Bella idea...

**SPECIAL THANKS: **To those of you who have reviewed, and those of you who didn't, but still read. As always, much love to Whimsy, even though it's her fault my muse is twitching like a drug fiend._  
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_Masquerade_

**THE SIXTH**

One ragged, thoroughly gnawed fingernail picked at the peeling label, catching on the adhesive paper. She winced when an edge caught and poked at her nail bed; when she hastily pulled back her appendage, a quarter of the label came with it. _Paroxetine _became _Pa _and she wondered if this was the Universe's attempt at a little cosmic humor. It would not have surprised her.

"You all right in there?"

Bella jerked, dropping the opaque cylinder into the sink, a few of the capsules rattling loudly within. She huffed and fetched the wet bottle. "Yeah," she called back, glaring at the suds on her hands.

She heard Charlie's boots clomp across the floor and into the kitchen, where she had been preparing dinner before her brief period of introspection. She loved that he never bothered to sneak up on her, never bothered to hide his presence, made enough noise to alert the neighbors when he approached another room in the house. He had the footing of a lumberjack, stable and strong. Everything she was not. "We could just order some pizza, Bells."

"Too late," she answered, pasting a smile on her face before she turned to her father. "The roast is already in the oven."

He eyed her. He did this every day, as if expecting an alien to burst out of her chest, and though she bore it out of good will, it never ceased to make her feel like she was soldier being appraised by her Commanding Officer. "It's a little early for those," he observed, gesturing towards her attire.

She glanced down out of habit, frowning at her clothes. Her pajama pants? What was wrong with them? It was five in the afternoon, and they were pink and fluffy and heaven on her skin. Sure, there was a hole on her right knee, but… Back in Philadelphia, girls and boys her age would walk around in pajamas and sneakers; to the convenience stores, to the grocery stores, to school, to the _mall_. It was a _fashion _statement, and more than that, they were _damned_ comfortable. Did that not apply here? She was no prima donna or a Cosmopolitan guru—as the budget manager in her mother's household, she could never afford to shop anywhere other than the thrift store—but… _come on_. First khaki, now pajama restrictions? What the hell was wrong with this town? "These are my second favorite," she protested. Her heart belonged to the oversized orange pair with the frayed hem and purple drawstrings. Her stomach fluttered just thinking about them.

"The sun's still out," he said, smiling at her pout.

"There's nothing wrong with being comfy," she replied. Then she remembered. "Oh! That reminds me, I have a bone to pick with you."

He frowned. "Me?"

She crossed her arms. "You told me there wasn't a dress code here."

"There's not." Poor man. He had no idea.

She rolled her eyes. "Lies and fallacies. You didn't warn me."

He scratched his head. "Warn you?"

_Men._ "Yeah, you know, give me some sort of heads up. 'By the way, Bella, when I say _tone it down_, I mean _turn it off_.'"

"I have no idea what you're talking about, Bells."

Of course he didn't. She sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Just don't do it again."

Charlie was still confused. "Sure…" He went back to eying her. "You sure you're okay?"

He had been asking her the same question since he'd retrieved her from school, repeating it during the unnecessary trip to the hospital, bugging the patient Doctor Cullen with it while she went through the exam—say "_Ahh_."—and then resuming the assault on the ride home. They'd gotten home a few hours ago, and he continued to ask that infernal question in ten minute intervals. You all right? Uh-huh. You okay? Yeah. You sure? Yep. Wanna talk about it? Nope. You sure? Yep. And then it would start from the beginning. A broken record she wanted to smash into a million pieces.

He meant well. Poor Charlie had no idea how to deal with a teen-aged daughter that knew how to cook and clean and balance a checkbook, but came undone at the drop of a hat. He was a simple man with simple appetites. Her mother had broken his heart when she'd walked out on their marriage with a twelve year old Bella in tow, but it did not stop him from smiling and enjoying the little things in life. Every time Bella came for a visit, the entire town knew weeks in advance because he would gush about it in his quiet way, showing her photograph—an embarrassing class photograph she really wished he would replace—to anyone willing to look and listen. It was ironic, since she inherited her inability to express sappy sentiments, familial or otherwise, from her father.

How Charlie, the sturdiest foundation she'd ever met, and Renée, the flighty bee with more hobbies than a nursing home had gray hairs, had ever gotten together was beyond her. It puzzled Bella to this day.

_God_. This whole situation was impossible. What had she been thinking? Charlie didn't need his screwed up daughter screwing up his simple life, just as Renée didn't need her screwed up daughter to tie her down; every time her husband, Phil, had to play a game away from home—which was often—it was obvious how much she missed him, how the sparkle died every time she awakened to find his side of the bed cold and empty. Bella had chosen to live with Charlie to make her mother happy, to give her mother the freedom she needed, but she had not factored just how much of a burden she would be to her father. _Neither_ parent deserved this, and it ate away at her incessantly.

So whenever Charlie asked if she was okay, she would answer him the same way, every single time. "Yep."

And smile, because she could be the good girl. She _would_ be the good girl.

Once assured, Charlie clomped back into the living room, plopping down on the couch in front of the television. She returned to her task, deliberately ignoring the little cylinder that burned a whole in her skull whenever she thought about it. Dinner came and went, leaving Charlie full and happy because he was a man, and men were happy when they were full. Maybe, if she piled food into his mouth twenty four hours a day, he would worry about his waistline instead of her.

She cleaned the dishes, grabbed that evil little bottle, made her excuses and scurried away to her room, her sanctuary, before Charlie could ask her if she was okay again—she did not think she could take anymore of his concern. One more time, and she would crumble and cry and spill her heart out and scream until the pain in her chest became a pain in her esophagus and scared the living shit out of her poor, sweet, simple father. So she smiled, told him she had homework, and quietly closed her door, the bottle clutched to her chest.

On her old bureau sat three little bottles just like it, each that burnt orange that warped and mutilated her favorite color, identical little demons taunting her for her weaknesses. Beside them lay an opaque yellow pill box, the weekdays printed in pretty purple font. Seven little cubes for seven long days. She glared at it, bile churning in her stomach; it had been full and perfectly sorted, but when she'd been determined to survive without them, she'd flushed the entire week's worth of medication in a beautiful bout of pure, teen-aged rebellion. Now, she would have to reorganize it, and explain why her prescriptions would need filling a little earlier than usual. _'Pathetic.' _Old people used these things. It was called a pill organizer—a fucking _pill organizer_. It was such a shitty name for such a shitty piece of shit. Why not call it an anti-crazy compartmentalizer? At least she would not feel like such a failure every time she needed to open it. Cool names meant cool beans, and cool beans made the bullshit easier to swallow.

She would turn eighteen in a matter of days, and she had to use one of these crappy things. Other kids measured their days on a calendar, marking them with cute little scribbles in vibrant ink. Birthdays, holidays, school dances, Prom. This little rectangle was her only calendar, seven days at a time. Instead of movies or the mall, she had to find tape because Saturday's lid did not close very well due to numerous instances of being shoved angrily into her schoolbag, and instead of painting her toenails, she had to find the patience to battle Wednesday's lid, which was a bitch to open. There were still a few half-peeled stickers clinging to the container from when she'd tried to make herself feel better. The bottom was scarred with a rainbow of markers in a vain attempt to be normal. Aborted doodles and crooked checkerboards. Her _life_.

It was inevitable. Thanks to her humiliating meltdown at lunch, she had no choice. A repeat of today would be a disaster. Sweeping the entirety of her anti-Bella kit into her arms, she carried it to her bed, defeated and bitter as the ever-present panic nipped at her heels. Unsteady hands gripped the first bottle, glancing over the label.

Alprazolam. Xanax, in normal-people speak. Little, powder-blue footballs she called bluesies. One every eight hours. Two were deposited in each cube.

The second bottle was popped open. Clonazepam. Klonopins. Little circles of burnt sienna she called peaches. One every four hours. Four went in each cube.

Another bottle, another pop. Paroxetine. Paxil. Long, olive-green ovals she called atomic bombs because they destroyed every molecule that made her Bella, leaving an automaton in her stead. One every eight hours. Two in each cube.

The fourth was her birth control. She did not have a special name for the plain white ellipses. She did not like to think about them, did not like to remember the look on Renée's face when she'd numbly suggested them, but someone had to think logically in this mess, and her mother had never been proficient in that area. What if it happened again? Her mother had been horrified and hysterical at the notion, but she'd submitted to Bella's rationale after a good cry.

With her colorful box of skittles packed and accounted for, she tossed the compartmentalizer in her schoolbag. She'd told Charlie that she'd taken her medication for the day, a little white lie so that she could enjoy a few more hours as Bella. Screwed up, slightly off, patched up with orange duct tape Bella. "What does Bella want to do?" she asked no one, and responded in kind. "She wants to take another shower, and stay in there for an hour." She grinned at the rhyme, and tried for another. "Should she brush her teeth and comb her hair? Should she sing a song while she's in there?" She crossed the room to her private lavatory.

Charlie interrupted her one-sided conversation. "_Bells!_" he called from the foot of the stairs.

She opened her door and padded on bare feet to the steps, curious. "Yeah?" she asked from the top.

"There's a girl, uh…" He looked over his shoulder, speaking to someone she could not see. "What was your name?"

"Alice," chirped a voice of smiles and wind chimes.

Her heart stuttered. A vague sense of giddiness unfurled within her belly. How had she forgotten about Tinkerbelle? And Emmett? And… and Jasper. The ball of warmth in her abdomen began to burn pleasantly. Her Biology buddies, with their wonderful humor and beautiful eyes and ashen pallor. She'd known them for less than a day—barely an hour of accumulative acquaintance—but never had she felt such kinship, such _peace_. There was something about them that drew her, mysterious, wonderful, inexplicably alluring… she wanted to talk to them more, wanted to laugh with them, wanted to apologize for losing it like she had, wanted to apologize for exploding on their blonde sister that so thoroughly deserved it. She'd been too wrapped up in her gray clouds to remember the few rays of sunshine she'd met, shining through eyes that didn't seem to mind her strange clothes and erratic behavior.

And one of them was waiting for her to stop daydreaming. "I… uh, yeah!" She nearly smacked herself. _'Smooth, Bella. Real smooth.'_

A head of spiky hair peered around the wall to Charlie's right. "Hey," greeted Alice, smiling. "I brought you the assignments you missed. Are you feeling better?"

Bella grinned in return. She politely ignored the inquiry, jogging down the steps. "Thanks. You saved me the headache."

"It's no problem." Yellow eyes scanned her, and Bella wondered if she should start saluting during these appraisals. "I wanted to stop by to make sure you were okay." A pause. The smile flickered. "Are you?"

Some of the giddiness ebbed away. _You all right? _Uh-huh_. You okay? _Yeah._ You sure? _Yep._ Wanna talk about it? _Nope._ You sure? _Yep. She knew this dance, knew the steps like the back of her hand. The script never changed; it was the same when her mother asked, when the doctors asked, when the psychiatrist that never believed her asked, when her father asked. Bella flirted with the idea of breaking her own rules. What if she said decided to be honest? What if she admitted that no, she was not okay. She was not all right. She was not sure about anything. She _still_ did not want to talk about it. _Nothing_ was all right. Nothing had been all right for a long time now.

The urge was there, lurking beneath the logic and reason she relied upon so heavily. She was a teenager, still a minor for a few more days, and she wanted to curl into daddy's lap like she was a little girl again. She wanted someone to stroke her hair and tell her it'll be okay, someday, and let her eat ice cream until the hole in her chest was filled with sugar and all of the things that made her happy.

The fantasy was a pretty one. Maybe, if she tried hard enough, she could do it… but Renée would cry again. Charlie, dear Charlie, would be lost and scared and angry, and would wear the look she'd seen on his face that day in the hospital, after he'd flown to Philadelphia in a frenzy to see his daughter. He'd dropped everything to see her, hadn't slept or eaten since the phone call, she later realized, just to sit by her bedside and quietly hold her trembling hands. His grief had been too great for words, but she'd seen his face through the gauze. Her strong, stable, steady father had been devastated. A crushed windpipe did not allow her to speak to him, and she had wanted to console him, make him smile, wipe that awful heartache off of his face. _I'll be okay, daddy. _Four simple words had never been more impossible for her to say. That, coupled with her mother's tears, had killed her inside.

She couldn't do that to them again.

"Bella? Bella, are you all right?"

Always the same question. Always the same answer, every single time. "Yep."

And smile, because she was a good girl.


	7. The Seventh

**NOTES: **Sorry for the delay. Chapter twelve is kicking my ass, and I started another Jasper x Bella story, so... guh.

**SPECIAL THANKS: **To everyone who has constantly reviewed, and those who didn't, but continue to read. Feedback is my crack. As always, to Whimsy, my beloved buddy-beta. You make my muse go, "_Ay-yo!_"_  
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_Masquerade_

**THE SEVENTH**

"I knew I'd find you here."

He grimaced. "You smell like her."

Onyx waves splashed against immovable rock, the soundscape ideal and soothing and unable to block his sister's voice. "I'll take that as a compliment."

Incorrigible little minx that she was, Alice ignored his foul mood. She sat beside him, her thin legs dangling over the cliff's edge, swinging to and fro with the breeze. Unlike those of La Push that lined the Quileute territory, these bluffs were calm, tranquil, and free of the horrible stench that accompanied those of wolfen blood. It was faint, but it grew exponentially foul by the day, and if he had to battle a fragrance that made his venom pool in his mouth, he would _not_ combat it with an odor that made his nostrils burn. This place, free of both extremes, was a wonderful reprieve.

Here, the invigorating tang of the Pacific refreshed his senses, wiping away the tension, the anger, the unnameable fog that kept poking and prodding at the darker recesses of his mind. Here, he could breathe, both figuratively and literally. If he tried hard enough, he imagined that he could smell the silver ethereality of the effervescent moon. It danced high on its tarp of twinkling indigo, just out of reach, its reflection sparkling like liquid diamonds in the ocean.

"Carlisle's worried," she murmured, staring at the glittering pearl that loomed above them. "So is Esmé."

He shrugged noncommittally. He had come here to find his balance, not exchange news.

"So am I," she admitted, dropping her gaze to the sea.

Against his wishes, he softened, unable to remain wholly indifferent. She was worried, yes, but he felt the regret, the sadness, the fear, and a longing he did not understand. What did she yearn for so ardently? "I'm fine," he stated, looking to the ebony abyss beneath them. He wondered what she found so fascinating there, and wondered if he could see it too.

The side of her foot grazed his leg purposely, bright eyes glancing at him. "Are you?"

"Of course." He refused to be anything other than fine. "Why do you smell like her?" _Fuck_. It had not been his intention to ask.

He could hear the smile in her voice. "I stopped by her house before I came here. Dropped off her assignments." A small giggle. "She was adorable."

"Why?" At this point, his mouth had a mind of its own.

"She had these pink pants on," she explained, misinterpreting his question. Her bubbly excitement took the edge from the longing that still lingered. "The kind humans wear to sleep. They reminded me of this fuzzy carpet I saw once. The color made me happy."

He refrained from rolling his eyes. "Why did you stop by her house," he clarified.

"Because I wanted to," she supplied, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world, "and you will too, someday."

He frowned. Alice's foresight was subjective, and she would be the first to admit it; her gift was based on the decisions people made, and if those changed, so did the outcome. The Cullens were always prepared for a shift in plans, and Jasper was no exception. Alice was their first line of defense above all else. They could strategize alternate methods should the circumstance warrant it, they could prepare themselves for the worst, but never would they doubt her.

This, however, had nothing to do with battles or strategies or plans gone awry. This was a ridiculous idea she'd sketched in the sand, one the tide kept washing away, only to have her crouch down and patiently trace again with her steady fingers. They'd built sandcastles before, the seven of them, scattered throughout the decades, kneeling on the shore amidst millions of footprints molded into the soft white grains that crunched and scratched betwixt their toes. Each castle had been crafted meticulously, and in one fell swoop, the ocean of time would surge forward and claim yet another fortress of memories. Never did it bother them, as a vampire's memory was better than any photograph a camera could capture, and Jasper found it somewhat disturbing that Alice was so determined to draw that damned picture, regardless of how many times he scattered the sand about in his vehemence to erase it.

He struggled to maintain his balance. To tackle this problem, he needed all of the facts. "When did you have the vision of her?" he wanted to know.

"Bella?" she clarified, and he briefly envied her ability to say that human's name without flinching. "The day before she moved here. Why?" She peered at him, confused.

"What did you see?" Perhaps there was a misunderstanding somewhere.

She beamed at him. Her giddiness toppled his precarious balance, and Jasper struggled to keep the inexplicable smile from stretching his lips. She was reading entirely too much into his simple questions, he realized, but he needed to know everything. Then, and only then, could he prepare himself to break his favorite sister's heart. "I saw you running in the woods. Bella was hiding in a tree, and she jumped on you." Her voice became soft and wistful. "She was still a newborn, so she tackled you pretty good… but you were laughing, Jazz." A pause. "I've never seen you so happy before. And…" Sadness wrapped around them, pouring from her small frame, but there were traces of hope intermingled within. "I'm afraid you'll never get that chance."

"Layin' it pretty thick there," he commented, shifting closer. He threw an arm around her. "I appreciate you looking out for me, sweetheart." And he did.

Alice leaned her cheek against his shoulder. "You _do_ realize that I know what you're going to say, right?"

Jasper chuckled. "Of course." Damn it.

He didn't fool her. "_Sure_." She giggled in good humor.

They stood at an impasse. Should he argue against her and ruin their rare serenity? He was sorely tempted; they could rail against each other until their perspectives were lost in the desire to _win_, biting out their opinions in the vain attempt to force the other to concede their stance. Long gone were the days when he was forced to engage in fierce power plays, alternatively charming and threatening until he got his way. It was manipulation, however one wanted to sugarcoat it, and if he decided to engage Alice in such a manner, he knew he would leave the victor. At the very least, she would retreat to fight another day, which was an admirable strategy when the odds were stacked against her.

But he did not want to relive those old memories. That persona would stay buried beneath the layers of congealed _sangre_, where it belonged.

The waves kept crashing against the cliff, the tide rising higher and higher as the hour grew later. Eventually, their nocturnal conspirator abandoned them to the harsh light of her brother, and they watched as the brilliant sun burned away the stars, setting the sky ablaze. He smiled, peaceful, and when Alice suggested they head back to the house, he did not protest.

The last time he'd sought sanctuary on his private cliff had been several years ago, when he'd run across a family of humans in the wrong place, at the worst possible moment. A mother, a father, two little girls and a boy no older than five. Their dog had barked in fear when he approached them, crazed with hunger in the wake of his aborted hunt. Who wanted deer or a fox, when there was a feast right there? In the end, even the Labrador had not survived his feeding frenzy, though he did not drink an ounce of the canine's blood. Appalled, ashamed, disgusted—and so fucking happy, because they tasted _glorious_ no matter how hard he tried to deny it—he'd fled. Like a coward, with his tail tucked between his legs, and his disgust had been absolute. When he returned, his eyes still a filthy mahogany—like her hair… _fuck!_—the sheer magnitude of worry, emanating from the family, had staggered him.

He was prepared for it this time, but the impact of their emotions still slammed into him with the grace of a wrecking ball. It helped that there was one less contributor, as she stood beside him with a little smile, but the force would have winded him, had he been human. Alice saw the slight wince and smiled wider. "Welcome home," she chirped in her sing-song, grabbing his hand.

Esmé was, as expected, waiting for him as soon as he crossed the threshold of glass. He was half a century older than the woman, a foot taller, and infinitely stronger, but when she hugged him so hard that his ribs whimpered, his inner momma's boy reemerged. Just a tiny bit. Just enough for him to reciprocate the sentiment before she let him go, relief and happiness warming his frigid skin. Where he could never see Carlisle as a father, Esmé could never be anything but a surrogate mother; it was everything she was, in everything she did, in everything she said. She was the Almother, the caregiver, the epitome of all things maternal, and she made him feel loved even as he felt like a soft-hearted pussy.

'_You _are_ a soft-hearted pussy,'_ was the chiding remark in his mind. _'It comes with the territory.'_

'_Goddamn it, Edward.' _Did that boy not know when to keep his trap shut?

'_Missed you too, brother.'_ There was a distinct chuckle.

"'Bout damn time you came back, grandpa," came Emmett's booming voice from the second floor. A moment later, the largest of the Cullens stood beside Esmé, whacking him soundly on the shoulder in what was supposed to be a pat. Emmett was going to knock his head off one day, Jasper was sure. "You still owe me a rematch." Emmett glanced at Alice. "How long did it take you to find 'im _this_ time?"

"An hour," the sprite replied, shimmering with mischief.

"_Fuck!_" Emmett swore, only to be reprimanded for his language by Esmé_._ "Sorry," he apologized.

"Who won?" It was Rosalie, calling from somewhere in the depths of her room.

"Esmé_,_" Emmett grumbled. "_Again._" He glared at Jasper, but there laid no malice in the bear. "You couldn't go running to Australia for a few hours or something? I'm losin' money 'cause of you."

"_Emmett!_" Esmé leveled her youngest with a quelling stare. "You shouldn't say such things." A smile. "I know my boys, and _you_ should know better than to bet against me."

Unbelievable. Jasper rolled his eyes, disengaging from the trio bickering amongst themselves—"I expect a down payment by Friday, honey." "_Yes_, Esmé."— and sauntered towards his room. It was not the first time they'd gambled on Alice finding, consoling and eventually bringing him back. As she and Edward were the only ones not allowed in their bets due to unfair advantage, Alice always played the messenger. It certainly would not be the last time it happened. Quite frankly, he was surprised anyone bothered to wager against Esmé and her eerily accurate hunches, but Emmett was stubborn; it did not matter how many times he lost, how many times he was proven wrong, it was about making things fun. Sometimes, Jasper envied Emmett's ability to find pleasure in silly, whimsical fancies.

En route, he peeked into Carlisle's study. He owed that man an apology for running off like he had, regardless of his reasons. Jasper found it empty. Perhaps the hospital called him in for an earlier shift? It happened often enough; Forks Memorial Hospital was understaffed, and since they'd moved here, Carlisle was in high demand as the most valued resident physician. How ironic that a three hundred and fifty-seven year old vampire with a medical degree would be the biggest thing since sliced bread? Had he not seen it himself, Jasper would never have considered it a possibility.

"_Are you familiar with the term 'Singer'?"_

He bit back a growl. He did not want to think about this. Jasper fought against it, but the damnedest thing about photographic memory: instant recall. He could never forget, even if he physically decapitated himself and clawed away chunks of his brain. Then again, the one time he'd been enraged and desperate enough to attempt it, Emmett had pinned him to the ground for an hour, so he was not sure if that would work.

"_Cantante…" _

Singers. What a load of horseshit.

Before Carlisle had explained the scientific aspect behind the phenomena—in spite of the fact that there was nothing _phenomenal_ about it—Jasper had encountered that particular term twice in his life, long before the Cullens and Forks and Isabella Swan. The second one had been a pretty little blonde by the name of Charlotte, and she had belonged to Peter, his first friend in the afterlife and his second in command. He remembered Peter's words as clear as day, babbling and erratic in confusion. "_Es como un droga. _She's like opium and steak and candy and… _maldito sea!_ _No lo entiendo!_" A year after her change, the Major had shown a rare mercy to his only friend at the time, and had allowed them to escape the bloodied chaos of the Southern Vampire Wars. Somewhere inside, where he had hidden the man named Jasper, he had wished them well.

"_Come with us." Peter, that loyal, pain in the ass Know-it-All. Charlotte, staring at the Major in wide-eyed fear, stood quaking beside him. "No tienes que vivir asi." You don't have to live like this. "Si vienes con nosotros, puedes encontrar algo mejor que esto." If you come with us, you can find something better than this. "Dígame la verdad. Quieres quedar asi, para siempre?" Tell me the truth. Do you want to stay like this, forever?_

_Pretty words. He was a sucker for them, always had been, always will be. How he envied them the chance to walk away from this… "Adios, amigo," the Major replied, and walked away from Peter instead._

Once upon a time, in a place called Texas, a young buck with too much charm had been eager to prove himself a man. Once upon a time, that young buck used his charisma to enlist in a Civil War he did not understand, lying about his age and joining the ranks of other fresh-faced boys too eager to hold a rifle steady. Unlike the other young'uns, he thrived in the art of death and strategy, but he never lost that naïveté, the innocent gullibility his momma always said would get him in trouble one day. So eager to please and eager to help, he'd climbed off of his favorite stallion to help three beautiful women with their broken carriage, always the gentleman.

The first Singer he'd ever known, was a boy. An ambitious, charismatic, _foolish_ little boy of nineteen.

"_Can I help you ladies?" He asked, taking off his hat politely._

_The one with hair the color of midnight sin smiled back, her red eyes twinkling. "Mi cantante," she murmured, deceptively sweet. "Le he encontrado."_

_He smiled apologetically. "My apologies, ma'am. I'm afraid I'm not terribly proficient in Spanish." He came closer. "Might I inquire after your name?"_

"_Maria," she purred, rolling the 'r' a little longer than necessary. "And you will learn, Major." _

_He never saw it coming._

Once upon a time, an ignorant young man ran into a coven of vampires waging a war of their own. And like a dumb-shit, he fell for her, hook, line and sinker.

"_You will learn."_


	8. The Eighth

**IMPORTANT NOTICE: **Starting this weekend, I will be posting on a weekly basis. That means one or two chapters every weekend, until further notice, or special circumstances occur. I hope you understand. Or care. Or both?

**NOTES: **Does anyone know why FF-dot-Net keeps fucking up my documents? Because this shit ain't cool, dude.

**SPECIAL THANKS: **To everyone who reviews without fail, to those who don't, but still read. Feedback is my speedcrack. To my beta-love Whimsy, because I think my muse has a crush on you, dear. I apologize ahead of time for any goat heads wrapped in nutella on your doorstep._  
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_Masquerade_

**THE EIGHTH**

"Got your medication?"

Really? He was going to start this? "Check."

"Got your cellphone?"

Oh, the electronic wad of cash he'd thrown down the drain yesterday? They could have gotten a new microwave with that money. "Check."

"Now, remember Bells. If _anything_ goes wrong, I'm in your contacts. Call me. I don't care what time it is."

He only knew what a contact list was because the guy at the store had to explain it a few hundred times. "I know."

"You gonna be okay? Want me to walk you to the door?"

Okay, enough. She was putting her foot down. "_Dad_." She glared at him. He was _not_ making this easy. "I'm _fine_. Relax, go to work, and I'll call you at three." She tried for soothing instead of annoyed. "You're making _me _nervous."

Which was bullshit, because she'd taken her bluesie, peach and atomic bomb right after her shower. At four in the morning, which had given her ample time to boil a pot of coffee and toast some bread for Charlie and herself, as neither of them were too keen on eating a large breakfast so early. The chemicals were roaring through her bloodstream, diluting the sharper edges of reality, and she was officially dopey enough to drift along in a farce of herself, Charlie's rabid worrying notwithstanding. Superman could not hold a candle to her right now, and playing on her father's sympathies was a low-blow, but it got him to stop babying her. She congratulated herself when he smiled and told her to have a good day—and not beat the shit out of any boys if she could help it, because Michael Newton's parents were still complaining over their son's various injuries. She bit down on her barbell, stifling her unsavory opinions. Sure, dad. Okay, dad. _Bye, _dad. Finally, he drove away.

Mission Accomplished.

She dug into one of the voluminous pockets, blindly sorting through the swishy material until her fingers found a small rectangle. The music player Reneé had given her for her birthday last year. It was her favorite shade of vibrant, blinding orange, matching her oversized pants and making her hum with muted pleasure at the same time.

Bella had not forgotten the catastrophic error in judgment she'd allowed yesterday. She'd allowed nerves to dictate her wardrobe, had allowed nerves to override her decisions, and that would not happen today. Nope, this time, she'd picked clothes that were comfortable and much more _toned down _from that schoolgirl ensemble, and she had remembered her audio distraction. There would be no random breakdown or fights of any kind, verbal or physical. This time, she could ignore the whispers, ignore the gossip and stares, and just float along in her pseudo-Bella mentality; too drugged up to care, but too awake for a coma.

There were a few students scattered around the parking lot, more than she expected to be at this time. She did not own a watch—what was the point? Time would tick by at its own pace, with or without one's consent—but the digital clock on Charlie's dash board had blinked a neutral seven-ten. Five minutes before the door opened, twenty minutes before the first bell rang, and an additional ten minutes before the late bell. In Philadelphia, the kids refused to go anywhere near the doors until the last possible second, loitering around off the property until it turned into a school wide race to see who can arrive the latest to class before they were _too_ late. The winner won a few slaps on the back and the most uncomfortable seat, but they played it every day religiously. Here, they did not seem so inclined to run or hide from their lessons, but with her handy-dandy headphones, she could hide from _them_ easily enough.

Among the people lounging about, catching up with their friends or simply staying warm in their cars, was a vehicle that seemed ridiculously out of place. Painted a sleek ebony with impenetrably tinted windows and a rounded frame, it looked more like a spaceship than an automobile, much less a car that someone _her_ age would drive. If she took a picture and showed it to Jacob, would he know what it was? Assuming, of course, the little mechanic ever decided to visit again. The last time she'd seen him, she'd been unpacking and grossly sullen, and she wished he would come out of hiding, if only to identify this unidentified foreign object someone had parked at Forks High.

Time slowed to a crawl. There, leaning against the suspicious craft, with waves carved out of autumn gold, was Jasper.

She'd seen him twice the day before, and yet, she would know him anywhere. As mysterious as his brothers and sisters, but different in a way she could not pinpoint, with a voice that caused an electrifying ripple effect throughout her nervous system. Her feet fumbled, shifting in his direction before she forced them to walk towards the school, though her eyes would not cooperate. His hair shadowed his face, his eyes downcast, his arms folded, waiting.

He must have felt her gaze, must have heard her awkward feet scuffle against the ground, because his gaze lifted and met her own instantly. Dark topaz, darker than yesterday, stared at her, a small frown marring his smooth forehead. An unfamiliar fluttering began to encompass her belly, as foreign as that hunk of metal he leaned against, and she could not place the sensation. Her pace did not quicken or slow, and as seconds became a lifetime of wonder, she found that her heart had to relearn its natural rhythm, that her respiratory system had faltered the instant he caught and held her eyes. Colors came into sharp focus, the air became sweeter once her lungs remembered how to function, and every inch of her skin came alive with song. Did he feel that strange current? Is that why he did not breathe? Is that why he seemed as unable to look away as she?

The loud blast of a car horn jolted her and she barely regained her balance before she licked the asphalt. The world became blurred behind smeared lenses again, cumbersome and awkward and cold.

Bella tore her eyes away, hurrying. The steady _swish swish swish _of her pantlegs distracted her, and she listened to its rhythm while she fumbled with the dials of her music player. Swish, swish, swish. Where was the power button? Swish, swish, swish. Ah, there it was. Loading… loading… loading… _damn it_, why were her hands shaking? Her skittles were supposed to keep that from happening. Swish, swish, swish. The little LCD screen finally revealed the multitude of songs in her collection. She selected one at random, hoping the sideways triangle meant Play; it was the same symbol that appeared on her VCR, and though she was far from technologically advanced, one plus one usually equaled two. Swish, swish, swish. Turn. Swish, swish, swish. Swish… swish…

Swish. Her legs were finally cooperating with her today. They led her to her locker without a thought, which surprised her, as she had a horrible sense of direction when she actually _tried_ not to get lost. The combination to the lock was written on the back of her compartmentalizer—a recent addition—and she fished the yellow box from the bottom-most pocket, frowning. A song played its opening chords, soothing and soft, but did she turn the knob to the left or the right? She had not thought to write down directions, but she should have known better; among the long list of side effects that came from taking skittles were dizziness, loss of coordination and confusion. _Confusion_. Shit.

How was she supposed to open her locker?

She chanced a look around at her peers, and found them gaping at her. _Again._ She withheld a groan, glaring at the little white numbers painted on the lock. They would offer no help. What was wrong with her _this_ time? Was her shirt too black, or her pants too bright? Tilting her head forward, Bella hid her face behind a curtain of hair, ignoring the busybodies to focus on the task at hand.

Perhaps it would be easiest to try both directions. That seemed like a good idea, but she'd written the numbers in a cramped font that reminded her of chicken scratch. What the hell was that? Was it one-twelve-eighty-five or eleven-two-eighty-five? Or eleven-twenty-eight-five? Or was it a four number combination instead of three? Why couldn't she figure this out? Why couldn't she _remember?_ That five could be some random squiggle for all she knew. Why had she not thought of dashes between each number? She must have gotten arrogant after years of operating lockers, and had simply assumed she would recall the information. _'You have failed, Bella, and you're a moron for failing so badly.'_ She would have punched the skinny metal closet had she not had such an aversion to pain. Or the inability to summon the energy required to care.

Whatever. She'd just lug around her giant schoolbag and hope it didn't get kicked around too much. Namely, by her. "Stupid," she grumbled, and turned.

And nearly swished all over Alice. "Hey there, Bella-bear!" she heard over her music, and politely turned it off.

The nickname stirred something deep inside of her, but she could not put her finger on it. "I didn't see you there."

Tinkerbelle was entirely too cheerful. "I tried to get your attention, but you had those things in your ears," Alice explained, gesturing at the headphones now around Bella's neck. Before she could reply, Alice continued. "Sorry about Rose. I promise she didn't mean to try and run you over."

Bella stared, dumbfounded. Had Tinkerbelle finally overdone it on the fairy dust? "What?"

"The car? You know, in the parking lot. Jasper?" When it was obvious Bella did not follow, Alice waved it away. "Never mind. Wanna walk with me to class?"

"Sure," she agreed, and then a better idea took hold. She could kill two birds with one Alice. "Wait, could you help me with my locker?"

Alice frowned. "Is it broken?"

Bella shook her head. "No. I forgot how to open it."

The frown deepened. "You put in the combination, and the lock opens."

Bella shook her head again. "I don't know what the combination _is_."

"But you used it yesterday, didn't you?"

They were speaking in circles. "I don't remember how," she repeated. She felt stupid and incompetent and this was going _nowhere_. "Look." She held out the compartmentalizer, upside-down, to show Alice the numbers, her face burning with shame. "I wrote these down yesterday, but it doesn't make any sense to me." She was such an _idiot_. Why didn't she plan ahead, like she usually did? "I can't remember the sequence, I can't remember which way to turn it, and I don't know which of these go together. Bella does not compute. Seeks assistance. Brain went poof." There. Hopefully, she'd gotten her point across.

Alice stared at the opaque yellow rectangle. Her voice lost its cheer. "What is that?"

"My combination. Kind of." Didn't she _just_ go over this?

"No." Alice gently took the rectangle into her own hands, thumbing open Saturday's loose lid. "What is _this?_"

That was the last thing Bella expected. "Oh." She'd never needed to explain it. Generally, people knew what it was on sight and never bothered to ask her about it; some kids shot up, some kids smoked pot, some kids thought tagging over a fresh coat of paint was fun, and some kids ate babies. Bella just so happened to have medical documentation stating that she needed skittles.

But this was not her urban home, where no one looked twice at barbells, pill organizers and bright orange pants. If someone needed help, people went about their business; she remembered witnessing a group of inebriated boys kicking at a homeless man, throwing his meager possessions all around, attempting to push the old bum into oncoming traffic. She'd tried to stop them with her little pepper spray, outraged, but a fifteen year old girl with basic self-defense skills did not hold up well against young men with beer muscles. In the end, even the old man had scurried away, leaving her to her fate. No good deed went unpunished, after all. In Central Philadelphia, where skyscrapers and fancy suits masked the filthy alleyways and low-key drug deals, that rule was one to live by… but not here. No, people got _involved_ here.

'_You're not in Kansas anymore, Dorothy.'_

She did not miss the random drive-bys of South Philly. She did not miss having her first car stolen, or her bag stolen on the _El_ train, or getting mugged at gunpoint that one time she'd decided to join some school acquaintances at the Art Museum in Center City for a late night party. She somewhat missed the random murals painted on the side of buildings before they were horribly marred by tags. She _really_ missed the cheap, greasy, delicious food. She missed her mother with a passion.

Mostly, she missed her anonymity.

"Bella?" Alice was watching her, that frown still in place.

Embarrassment took over, and she snatched her yellow box back. She'd never been embarrassed about this before, never felt like she was hiding some secret, and she did not appreciate feeling so now. "It's not a big deal," she said, feigning disinterest. She shoved the box into her pocket. And then wondered why she was _hiding _it. "The bell's going to ring soon, anyway." A vague resentment reared its head, aimed at Alice for instigating this awful notion that her compartmentalizer, her anti-Bella kit, was wrong somehow. Never mind that Bella hated using it, hated how Charlie stared at it with that _look_, hated how Renée couldn't look at it without bursting into fresh tears.

She realized, with a start, that she would need to take a bluesie during Biology. Eight o'clock marked her next dose, and then noon marked another for all of her little skittles. She had not thought about it, especially when Charlie had come stampeding into her room at four in the morning, awakened by her ungodly screaming—his words, not hers. He'd made sure she'd taken them, had hovered until she complied.

If Alice had reacted thusly… _shit_. They were going to think she was some psycho or worse, some kind of drug addict.

_Fuck them._ She didn't give a shit what they thought.

_Fuck_. Yes, she did. More than she ought.

_Fuck this_. She would not take them. No, Sam-I-Am, she will not eat green eggs and ham.

_Fuck! _She _had_ to take them. She _had_ to eat green eggs and ham!

'_Okay Bella. Calm down. It's not a big deal.' _Her inability to remember a simple task. Not a big deal. Not at all. The impending bluesie. Not a big deal. If she made it into a big deal, it would be. If she acted casually, it would just be Bella doing what Bella had to do in order to not be as Bella-esque as she could be. No one had to understand it, no one had to accept it. They just had to not give her crap for it, or look at her the way Alice was now. Simple. Not a big deal.

The bell rang. Time was up, and so were her options.


	9. The Ninth

**SPECIAL THANKS: **To all of you that constantly review, and to those that don't, but continue to read - this story has over 2,500 visitors and twice as many hits. I appreciate it. Also, to my lovely beta-buddy, Whimsy. My muse is buying you a ring made of femur bones and kidney stones. I'm sorry. I tried to stop him, but..._  
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_Masquerade_

**THE NINTH**

He could not restrain the smirk on his lips as he parked into his favored spot, once again proving that outright speed did not necessarily win the race. Rosalie would _not _be amused, but he knew Emmett would only demand another rematch; he would demand a thousand rematches, because it gave them something to do on the drive to school every morning, because it lifted their spirits, because it was something they could all enjoy together. Even Edward had participated during the race in a rare bout of playfulness, and though the telepath possessed the quickest vehicle of the three, Emmett had executed a beautiful braking technique that forced their brother into a tailspin. Still, Edward had recovered, and both he and Emmett had nearly gained the upper hand. One day, those two may beat him.

Perhaps he should allow Emmett a victory or two. Bear seemed to have lost a number of wagers in the last day, excluding the burger one that had been thwarted before it ever saw the light of day. Jasper frowned, disturbed. _'Bear?'_ When had he begun to refer to Emmett as _Bear_? His mood instantly soured, and he stepped out of his McLaren with a scowl.

As he had so many times before, he took a deep breath, inhaling the scent of morning dew and the few, scattered humans that littered the student parking lot. It was a necessary exercise, very much a part of his training, which was what this entire fallacy entailed. The itch in his throat burned, begging him to relent, but it was not as overpowering when the entire student population was present. He tested himself, taking another breath, and found that he could ignore the urge, could deal with it. Of course, once he was stuffed into that building with all three hundred something children—let alone _a certain girl_—his endurance would crumble, though the illusion of control gave him a modicum of pleasure. It gave him hope that he would one day achieve the same level of tolerance Carlisle held.

On his third whiff, he found her.

Jasper stiffened. She was here. He would recognize her anywhere. Alice had advised him long ago that thinking of them as people, with feelings and family, helped with the thirst, but it was excruciatingly difficult to remember that when his mind shut down and all he could remember was blood. Sweet, thick, _delicious_ blood. _Her _blood. _'Stop it.' _After a day, he could already picture her in that ridiculous outfit, with her ridiculous pigtails, and her ridiculous… socks. He could imagine her laugh, an off-key arpeggio that trilled somewhere on the fourth measure; he could conduct an orchestra of tone-deaf pianists to the sound of her unusual laughter. Her eyes were a sandy brown, surrounded by bruised rings she hid with cosmetics. With skin as pale as snow, she could almost pass for a vampire, were it not for that very human, nigh irresistible aroma of hers.

He was testing his luck, he knew, by breathing in again. There was something very strange, very _wrong_, even more so than the realization that he'd been thinking of Isabella Swan as a _person _instead of his main course. He still thought of her pulse fading beneath his teeth, still imagined how delectable she would taste, but it did not override his senses. That, alone, disturbed him, but when his nose found her scent again, he looked up, instinctively searching for her.

She was watching him as she walked past. Her veil of hair fell flat and dull around her shoulders, tangling by her abdomen, covering most of her face. The only splashes of color, the only signs of _life_, were those outrageous pants that made an awful _swishing_ noise with every step she took, and nearly blinded him through his peripherals. He sniffed again, suddenly unsure, but it was _her_ scent. It was _her. _No other would have that tang he so desired, that reminded him of the Pacific, no other would turn this burning itch into an inferno that blazed throughout his cold flesh. He steeled himself, even as he watched her, even as he held her haunted gaze, for the inevitable tunnel vision that was sure to come. Hopefully, the others would arrive soon.

The madness never came.

Had he somehow mastered his hunger? While that would be an exceptionally fortuitous turn of events, it did not seem possible; it was at this time yesterday that he'd thrown all caution to the winds and lost it at the slightest hint of her particular brand of wine. Why not now? How could he taste her in the air without dissolving into a monster? Had it been a fluke? Was that truly the same Bella? What on Earth had she done to herself? And why was he not jumping for joy? Instead of the elation he _should_ have experienced, he felt cheated, like a dog denied his favorite bone, or a child denied his favorite snack. He had half a mind to follow her and demand answers—"Why don't I want to kill you as much as I did yesterday?"—but stopped himself before he allowed his curiosity to get the best of him. If only he could figure out why…

Rosalie appeared, blaring her horn at Bella, who jerked and nearly toppled over. His eyes never left her as she scrambled away, tripped over some imaginary obstacle, and then disappeared into the building. It felt wrong. The whole image seemed wrong. Had her balance always been so atrocious, or had she been too flustered? He'd noted her spike of emotion, intense and indescribable and intoxicating. He'd heard the strange tempo of her heartbeat. It was gone in an instant, the hum that she naturally emanated completely silenced. She was an odd little duck, but _dull_ and _clumsy _had not been terms he would have used to describe her in the short span of their acquaintance.

If she was singing for him now, he did not hear her.

"Is this how they used to get chicks back in your day?" Emmett asked, an eyebrow raised in confusion. "'Cause I don't think it worked. They're not supposed to run _away_ from you, man."

Rosalie slammed her door. "Next time, make the bedroom eyes somewhere else," she spat, glaring at Jasper. "I almost ran the ditz over."

Emmett smiled wryly at his mate. "Aw, babe. You don't mean that."

"Another second and I _would_ have," Rosalie protested.

"No, I meant the _ditz_ part. She's wacky, not _stupid_," Emmett explained. Rosalie scoffed in response, but relented to the quick kiss Emmett distracted her with. "Besides, Jazz-man hasn't tried to eat her yet, so I'd say we're off to a good morning. Right, babe? If you want, we can have a quickie before first period."

"Oh, come _on_," came Alice's whine as she exited Edward's Saleen. She seemed thoroughly disgruntled. "I have enough to worry about without _that_ running around my head."

Emmett grinned, unrepentant. "Giving you ideas?"

Alice rolled her eyes. "_Nightmares_. I _don't_ want to see you guys naked. That's just ew."

"We don't sleep, so how can I give you nightmares?" Emmett was relentless. "Admit it, you wanted to see my junk." Rosalie smacked his arm, in perfect tandem with Alice's squawk. "What? I was just kidding, babe."

They continued their bantering, laughing and trading harmless barbs before slipping on the masks of civility, of long discarded humanity. Edward joined in, projecting an image into Emmett's mind that had him rolling in disgust. More laughter. Snippets of idle conversation. A comment about cars and doors and orange pants. Steady streams of curiosity. Eventually, Emmett deployed his unique blend of charm and blatant sexual innuendo to coerce Rosalie into an early morning romp, and the two ran off faster than the human eye could see. Jasper ignored them, still glaring at the doors that hid her from his view, slowly piecing together an entelechy.

"_Any demons in your view?"_

"…_significant change in the chemistry of the brain, and what signals are sent to its receptors. Heightened, sustained and prolonged periods of stress are large factors. Physically or emotionally traumatic experiences, extensive drug use… any one of these could alter or change how the human brain operates."_

"_But I already know you."_

"…_humans exhibit this behavior as well, though they have lost the use of the volmeronasal organ. However, as venom reanimates dead cells, vampires regain the ability to detect the pheromones in their ideal companion. Alive or undead, we still produce them…"_

What the fuck had she done? Something was changed, altered, so what had been the most magnificent scent he had ever come across in his long, unnatural life… was now a mimicry of what it could be. A fucking _tease_. Any human with good taste would not pour ketchup on top of a juicy steak, or forget to put butter in mashed potatoes; likewise, a vampire did not drink from tainted blood if he could help it, and the human should have the decency to refrain from fucking that up. He was angrier than he should have been, downright _pissed_, and his legs made to march into that _goddamned_ school to shake some sense into that lifeless girl until she confessed to her sins and mundify whatever she had done. He would not stand for it. It did not matter that she had no idea of how enchanting she smelled, how hungry she made him, how her scent alone had driven him insane. One did not wave such a bounty before his nose and then retract it without warning.

'_Calm down, Jasper,' _Edward soothed, grabbing his arm. _'You're projecting.'_

Alice appeared at his other side, her brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothin'," he snapped reflexively, and internally cringed at the notable difference in his voice. Undoubtedly, Edward was fully aware of his strange, demented train of thought, and he damned his brother's ability. It was not Edward's fault his gift could not be contained or filtered, but Jasper was a private man and moments such as these summoned the irritation he usually kept at bay. Having his every passing fancy plucked from his brain without his acquiescence was an uncomfortable drawback he'd learned to acclimate to when he'd joined the coven. It did not mean he enjoyed it.

'_I'm sorry.' _Edward's voice was rueful in his mind.

What was _wrong _with him? That was a brilliant question. Alice had asked, but he could not answer. Shame bit at him, and Jasper immediately deflated. _'Don't apologize. I'm just…' _ He had no idea.

'_Throwing a hissy fit?'_

Prick. _'Goddamn it, Edward.' _He appreciated the humor, and tried not to let it bother him how accurate the description fit.

Jasper pulled himself together; he needed to get his head on straight. He was being irrational and more than a little unreasonable. This, after all, was a _good _thing. Now, he could continue this sojourn, this falsehood that was his high school identity, without the constant burden of wanting to devour Isabella Swan. Whatever she'd done to sully the overflowing beauty of her heady perfume was a waste, a fucking _travesty_ that he wanted to rectify if it took tearing her apart vein by vein until he found the cause of this sudden change, this _irredeemable abomination _that—

'_Jasper!'_

Whatever she'd done would be a boon to his senses. He should _thank _her for it. He should… _throw her against a wall and_—

'_Stop, Jasper. You're scaring Alice.'_

Was he projecting again? _Fuck_. _'My apologies.'_

'_Just… contain yourself.' _A pause. _'What has gotten into you?'_

Jasper growled, low and deep, before he caught himself. _'Nothing.'_

'_You really shouldn't lie to a telepath.'_

There was an acute shifting in the back of his cerebrum. He growled again, louder this time. Edward had crossed the line. "If you _ever_ do that without my permission again, I _will kill you_," he snarled murderously. It was a violation he would not allow, and had the boy not been family, he would not have bothered with a warning. He was on edge, he was angry. There were limitations to what he could endure, and it would do Edward some good to remember just _who_ Jasper Whitlock was.

Edward had the decency to appear ashamed. _'I'm sorry, brother. I meant no harm.'_

'_Don't do it again.'_

The subject was closed to discussion.

He felt Alice's spike of fear, of worry, of unmitigated sadness, and enveloped her in a blanket of calm. She was aware of his emotional manipulation, but did not comment on it—he would tell her when he was ready, and he was grateful to her for the quiet compliance. She gave him a small smile, pecked her mate lightly on the cheek, and rushed forward, dancing off to do who-knew-what.

'_Jasper,' _came the subdued voice once Alice was gone.

He sighed, dragging a hand through his hair; an old habit from his human days he had never bothered to correct. _'I'm fine, Edward. I won't kill you.'_

There was an evident intonation of relief. _'As if you could catch me.'_

'_Punk.' _The quip relaxed him, albeit only marginally. It helped him grasp his center, his balance, before he fell off the deep end. He ignored the rampaging bull that demanded he force Isabella Swan into a twisted Inquisition, ignored the dark murmurs that wanted to spill blood and venom until it became the litany of his broken eternity, and tried to calm the flurry of commotion that were his thoughts.

One step forward, ten steps backwards.


	10. The Tenth

**NOTES:** Chapters eleven and twelve are being assholes. Seriously. On another note, I'm writing three other Jasper/Bella stories (actually, writing one, playing with another, and then staring at the third when I'm not glaring at _Masquerade_) so look out for those, I guess?

**SPECIAL THANKS: **To all who continue to review and feed my addiction. To those who don't, but still read. And, as always, my lovely Whimsy; my muse wants to name your children after diseases. I don't think Diabetes is a good name for a girl, though..._  
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_Masquerade_

**THE TENTH**

_'And for the grand finale, Bella will manage to trip over nothing and collide with every person she sees, only to be saved by none other than… Tinkerbelle! That's right folks, not only can her fairy dust make you fly, but she can save The Walking Disaster before the entire school becomes the scene of an accidental suicide. Come one, come all! Watch Bella trip, stumble and fall! Right here, in Forks High's hall!' _ It was as she was mulling over color schemes that would best portray The Walking Disaster in action that her treacherous feet forgot how to walk again, and the ground rushed forward to say hello. Thankfully, she cushioned the fall with her face, so it only hurt a _lot _worse.

"Bella!" Alice, who had paused at a locker to speak to someone she could not distinguish in the crowd, dove forward to help her up. "What a clumsy bear you are today." Alice patted her down, dusting her off for the umpteenth time that morning. There were snickers coming from the students nearby. Neither girl paid them any heed. "You're beginning to worry me."

Bella drove a hand through her hair, wincing when her fingers were impeded by a snarl of tangles. "My feet don't work."

"Your feet work _fine_," insisted Alice, her lips pursed. "You're just really…" She paused, and Bella knew she was trying to find the right words. "Uncoordinated."

_'Nice save.' _Bella appreciated the effort, and felt guilty that this sweet girl was going out of her way to make sure no one was harmed on the journey to Biology. "Why don't you go with Peter Pan before class? I know you're dying to." She was not sure if she was correct with her assumption, but this scraping-Bella-off-of-the-floor game was not fun. It was tedious and annoying and she knew Alice must be sick of it by now, and _that_ made her feel like a clumsy asshole. She should have warned Tinkerbelle of the disorientation that magnified when one of the skittles wore off; it was one of the downsides. Sanity in exchange for balance. When Tinkerbelle frowned, ready to protest, Bella cut her off. "Trust me, I'll crawl there if I have to."

"And ruin those pretty pants? No way," Alice countered.

Bella smiled, completely distracted. "Really? You like them?"

They seemed to earn more glares than the schoolgirl ensemble had. Tinkerbelle was officially the most awesome person on the planet. "It's hard not to," she said, grinning. "They're too big for you, and those straps have _got_ to be a safety hazard, but they make me want to dance." She looped an arm around Bella's. "So let's make sure they last the rest of the day, 'kay?"

A rhyme. A little one, but a rhyme all the same. "Where have you been my whole life?"

Alice giggled. "Waiting for you to be born."

Swish, swish, swish. They'd only gotten a few paces when a booming voice echoed behind them. "Hey, ladies!" Two giant hands came down, clapping their shoulders in a friendly greeting, and Bella lost her footing. She toppled to the side, but Alice managed to keep her from abusing the poor tile again, using their linked arms as leverage. Who would have thought a girl that tiny would be so strong? "Whoa, my bad!" Emmett joined in the effort, helping her stand and straighten. "Didn't mean to scare you."

"Hey, Bear," she greeted in lieu of an explanation, willing the heat from her face. She was making a bigger fool out of herself by the second.

"Jelly-Belly's a little dizzy today," Alice supplied, and another nickname made its debut. Bella wasn't sure if she liked that one or not.

"Aw, Belly-bear," Emmett sympathized. What? _Belly-bear? _"Want me to carry you?"

These names were starting to get out of hand. "It's down the hall," she pointed out, flustered.

Emmett came over to her side, snatching her unencumbered arm. "That's a _whole_ hallway." He placed her hand in the crook of his elbow.

Operation: Help and Humiliate the Bella had officially begun. With the gigantic Emmett to her right, forcing that arm up, and the tiny Alice on her left, pulling her arm down a bit, they marched down the corridor. The three-man chain parted the sea of kids in an impressive spectacle, and though she was mortified to be escorted so, there was a part of her that wanted to laugh and sing about yellow brick roads. She would make a fabulous fool of herself, but she'd already done that, so there wasn't much more pride to sacrifice. Bella concentrated on the steady _swish swish swish_ as a means of coping with the sudden influx of attention, and settled for humming beneath her breath, thinking of ruby red shoes and blue footballs on the horizon. Swish, swish, swish.

"Follow the yellow brick road," Alice sang, perfectly in sync.

How could Alice hear that above the loud chatter? Bella smiled, dismissing it. "Follow the yellow brick road," she contributed softly.

"We're off to see the Wizard," Emmett thundered, scaring more than a couple of the people they trotted past.

"The wonderful Wizard of Oz!" they chimed as one.

She'd never felt more fortunate than she did at that moment. Even as her mind flailed and tossed about, too busy flying through clouds to be of any substantial use, she felt completely at ease. At peace. How had she managed to make such friends? Less than a day and one decidedly odd conversation later, and suddenly, they were happy to see her, helping her through the irritating transition as her body readjusted to her medication, singing silly songs and laughing with her as if they'd known each other all their lives. It was bizarre and wonderful.

She'd been too young, too introverted as a child to make friends in Forks, Washington before Renée had filed for a divorce. The trips to see Charlie were to _see Charlie_, so there had been very little interaction outside of her father's house.When they'd moved to Phoenix, Arizona, the stay had been too short to make any real connection with other people, and by the time Renée had met, married and moved in with Phil, Bella did not have an overwhelming inclination to befriend anyone in Philadelphia, Pennsylvania. There was a girl, she vaguely recalled, named Elizabeth that she'd gotten along with, but after the disaster that was her junior year, she had not made the effort to keep in contact with anyone that would remind her of those dark times. Once she'd been taken out of school, there was only her mother and occasionally Phil, until the decision had been made to attempt a second junior year in Forks.

A lifetime surrounded by acquaintances she could barely remember, and parents too busy living their own life. Was she jumping the gun by calling these people friends? Did her inexperience make her too quick to label? They did not laugh or mock her, they did not ostracize her or call her strange. Other than Jacob—the butthole that did not bother to visit, and blatantly ignored her, all because she snapped at him _once—_she did not have anyone to compare them to. In fact, they seemed just as odd and out-of-place as she… but was it too soon? Their touch did not alarm her, though she hardly knew them.

Was this friendship? Was this happy, peaceful, _amazing_ feeling of belonging called friendship?

Perhaps it was the chemical imbalance planting ideas in her brain. Perhaps she was being overly sentimental. Perhaps she would see things differently once she'd taken her bluesie. Perhaps she was just riding on the giddy euphoria of _feeling_, instead of being the Bella-bot she so dreaded, and that inevitably came with every skittle.But as they shook with humor for the last few feet of their adventure, she hoped.

Emmett and Alice disentangled themselves from her once they reached the class, unable to fit through the door as one. It was then, separated and still smiling, that Bella realized there had been a fourth amongst them, silent till now.

The accent gave him away. "Haven't you noticed a draft yet?"

She thought he was addressing her, and she reacted instinctively, swiveling in place. A rogue shoelace caught on the heel of her sneaker and she flailed, but Alice—wonderful, glorious, life-saving Alice—caught her before she could actually hurt herself. His attention, however, was on Bear. Had he been behind them the entire time? Her face was on _fire_. Why hadn't he said anything? She was getting lightheaded, and she was going to burn to death from embarrassment, if her head did not explode from the rush of heat. Of all the people, _Jasper_ stood there, a mere inch shorter than Emmett, with what looked like boxers made for elephants dangling from his fingertips. Red hearts on white cloth.

Emmett grinned. "I knew I forgot something."

Jasper was cringing. "Rose asked me to give you these."

"Oh, _yuck_," gagged Alice, and flounced away to her seat.

Emmett, without an ounce of hesitation or shame, plucked the material from Jasper's grip and promptly flung it over his shoulder. It floated like a parachute, gently swaying in the air until it was lost in the throng of kids racing to class before the late bell. There was no remorse, no guilt, not a shred of apology in his easy smile, and in that instant, he became Bella's hero.

She tore her eyes away from Jasper, forced her legs to carry her to her chair. Without falling. The two siblings stood just outside of the door for a moment longer, speaking in low tones, before they finally strode inside and claimed their own seats. Unlike Emmett, Jasper did not offer an easy greeting; where the others were open and affable, he was reserved, sitting stiffly, hardly moving. A part of her wanted to say "Hey, Goldilocks," but she could not bring herself to call him by his comical moniker. What happened to that gorgeous dimple of his? She'd seen him smile, heard his laugh, witnessed him relaxed. Where did that guy go? There was a heaviness, an edgy gravity she did not understand, and though she'd felt its pull yesterday, she'd been distracted and more than a little batty. While Owl shuffled through the door towards his desk, Bella was momentarily possessed.

"Howdy, partner," she said, and had never been more horrified. Emmett snickered behind her.

Jasper tilted his head just enough to look at her. "Hello," he answered. His face was devoid of all emotion.

_God_, why couldn't she act _normal_? _Bella _normal, _anything_ normal? All of the Cullens were painfully beautiful, but none of them affected her like this. What the hell _was _this? Her pulse was stuttering, her hands would not lay still, her cheeks felt like they would never cool. She glanced at the clock hanging above the chalkboard. Ten minutes left. The compartmentalizer began to burn a hole in her pocket, promising sedation and a welcome end to this fluttering in her stomach. What was ten minutes? She'd been told to adhere to the dosage time _exactly_, due to her particular combination—something about balance, maybe?—but it was only ten minutes. She could already feel it wearing off, so there should be no harm in cheating a bit; decision rationalized, she dug into her pocket and thumbed open Saturday's loose lid for convenience's sake, identifying the small football with her fingers.

She tossed it into her mouth when she found a notable absence of water in her schoolbag. Yet _another _thing she'd forgotten. It was probably still in the refrigerator, cold and unopened. With a shudder, she swallowed, wincing at the bitter taste on her tongue. She _hated_ taking them dry.

"What are you doing?"

His quiet inquiry caught her off her guard, but then, everything about him managed to throw her off kilter. "Blue," she blurted. _'Wow, Bella. Way to go.'_

Jasper's brow wrinkled ever so slightly. "Gray," he blurted, and frowned deeply.

At least she was not alone in her confusion. She could almost _feel _his bewilderment. It made her smile. "Any demons today?" A rhyme. Her smile grew.

He shook his head and grimaced. "What did you swallow?"

"A blue," she answered.

To her surprise, he leaned closer. Was he…? Her smile ironed out, and her breath stilled. A spike of diluted fear zipped through her, quickly doused with a steady stream of calm. He was _sniffing _her. For a moment, she though he was going to… "Medicine?" He sniffed again. Snorted, as if he'd gotten something stuck in his nose. "It smells horrible," he said, and leaned back in his chair. "You shouldn't take them."

Was he serious? She didn't _enjoy_ it. "My doctor says I should," she countered darkly. She was stuck somewhere between offended and overjoyed, though neither made any sense to her.

"Your doctor doesn't have to smell you all day."

_Now_ she was offended. Disgruntled, she took a whiff of her armpit. "I smell like magnolias." It was printed on the label of her deodorant.

He scoffed. "You do _not_ smell like magnolias."

She rolled her eyes. "Are you a botanist?"

"No."

"Then you don't know what you're talking about." She was smug.

"You do _not_ smell like a flower, Isabella." He was stern.

She faltered, shaken by the sound of her full name. Where there was usually irritation when someone failed to call her Bella, as she often corrected, there was only… acceptance. As if a piece of a puzzle had clicked into place. They were in the middle of the most bizarre argument—was it an argument?—she'd ever had, and she was completely floored by how _right_ her name felt rolling off of his tongue. She blinked, trying to shake away the residue of the spell he must have woven around her. What was she saying? "Blue," she murmured, unfocused. She was drifting on a cloud.

"Gray," he muttered absently. He made a sound, something akin to a growl. "_Stop that._"

"Open your books to page two-thirty-five," came Professor Owl's voice, bursting their bubble. "We'll be discussing what you read yesterday, and I want you all to take notes. You're going to have a quiz when you return on Monday." Owl began writing on the board, oblivious to the numerous groans that arose among the students. Or he did not care. "Pass your homework to the front."

_Isabella_. He made it sound beautiful.


	11. The Eleventh

**NOTE: **Sorry for the delay. Here ya go.

**SPECIAL THANKS: **Everyone who reviewed, favorited, and put me on your Alerts. And to Whimsy, who's gonna be a fuckin' rawkstar. Well, a published author, which is close enough._  
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_Masquerade_

**THE ELEVENTH**

A ball of crumpled paper smacked him in the head, and had he not been so preoccupied with his own thoughts, he would have caught it beforehand. He unraveled it, already familiar with Emmett's less-than-subtle tactics.

_You should know better than to tell a woman she smells bad. Stop being so mean to her. _Alice.

_Stop being a dick. _Emmett.

This was ridiculous. They could have just whispered it without the humans hearing them. He re-crumpled the note and tossed it over his shoulder. They were having entirely too much fun being juvenile and downright silly, if their shenanigans thus far were anything to go by.

The Wizard of Oz, indeed. He generally avoided the house when the Cullens decided on movie night, and had not been in attendance when they'd selected that film. It did not stop them from humming that particular jingle for weeks afterward, occasionally breaking out into song and dance. Even Carlisle had been infected, twirling Esmé around at random intervals for no other reason than because the mood struck him. While their giddiness had lifted his spirits, that melody was _annoying_; when he'd trailed after Emmett and Alice carrying the maladroit Bella between them, that annoyance had dwindled in the face of their light, airy, nigh jubilant emotions. He'd struggled to keep his grin at bay, amplified by the reassurance that Bella's signature fragrance, though still too faint to appease his hunger, was slowly returning to normal.

His temperament had immediately plummeted when he discovered what had changed the chemistry in her blood. Blue, she'd called it, and that simple color became a vile oath on her lips. Blue skies, gray clouds. It was a mantra, an oxymoron, a perplexing bit of code that was theirs and theirs alone—and he absolutely _hated _it, because there should not exist anything that had both his and Bella's name tied to it.

A light snore caught his attention, and he turned to find the human in question fast asleep.

Jasper stared. That was not a normal occurrence. Humans did not abruptly fall into slumber without some form of provocation. He had not felt the prelude of lethargy that signified sleep. She'd been wide awake a moment before, babbling on about magnolias and sniffing herself, as if she could ever understand what his superior nose did. He tilted his head, his brow wrinkling. That position did not seem natural or comfortable; her cheek laid against the black-coated wood, both arms stretched across the entire width of the table. Half of her backside slid precariously off of the chair, one leg extended while the other sat at an odd angle beneath her seat, her hair tangled and tousled and splayed about in wild abandon. As he watched, she twitched. A minute later, she twitched again, her feet scuffing against the floor as if she were trying to scurry away.

This did not bode well. Jasper clearly recalled yesterday's incident in the school infirmary, where she had tossed and turned and screamed like the hounds of hell were nipping at her heels. Screamed as if venom were running through her veins, tainting her human blood, as he had witnessed countless newborns before. The stark terror in her dormancy had stabbed at him, forcing him to send out a thick sheet of calm, of peace, before his own emotions would settle. He did not need a repeat of that performance. Her nightmares were her own to keep, but if she kept jerking around like that, he had little doubt this entire class—this whole fucking _school_—would become painfully aware of them.

The instructor continued to drone on in that monotone of his, and the students were too distracted talking amongst themselves to notice Bella. With the tip of his finger, he poked at her arm, hoping it would wake her. It didn't. A muscle leapt in her hand, and her posterior slid off of the chair a bit more, but she did not stir. He tried again to no avail.

The rattle of a yellow box drew his gaze to the ground by her lopsided foot.

A rectangle, actually. The opacity revealed dozens of those little pills, exactly like the one she'd taken, and a few he had not seen before. In a blur of madness, he retrieved the case and held it in his lap, glaring at the foul odor he could detect, even through the closed lids. It was _awful_. How could she stand it? Why had he taken it? The stink left a sour taste in his mouth he wanted to scratch off of his tongue.

An idea formed, a cancerous little notion that was executed before he fully understood it; he ripped a piece of paper from his textbook, folded it in half, and then folded it again. What the hell was he doing? He scowled, watching as his hands moved of their own accord. Popping open Monday's lid, he poured the contents into the makeshift container and folded the page over the muted rainbow of capsules, folding the sides, securing them safely inside. He repeated the process until he had a small square he could easily slip into his pocket, and he did so, pausing only to softly drop the rectangle into the bottom-most pocket of Bella's orange pants. She would never suspect a thing; why would she ask if _he_ stole her medication? A human would never comprehend the connection. Hell, _he_ did not comprehend, but the need to understand why she was taking these horrible little things was great. So great, he had resorted to pilfering from a human.

A moment later, he regained his senses. This was preposterous. Stealing from a human? Edward would have had a good chuckle, had he been within range. Emmett and Alice's lackadaisical behavior as of late must have been a corrupting influence. It was the only explanation for the perplexing malady that had befallen him. Why should he care what she did to herself? Unless she decided end her life, he would not meddle in her affairs, and if she _did _decide to commit the atrocity of suicide, he would make sure to be in attendance to deliver death's chilly embrace.

He scowled. Did he just imply that he would stalk this human girl until the end of her days? Was her blood worth _that _much to him?

Yes.

Absolutely _not_.

"_Jasper!_" came Alice's urgent whisper. "_Stop that._"

Jasper was appalled at himself. The rumble in his chest died down immediately. Thankfully, his volume had not attracted any undue attention, but he _had_ to regain control of himself.

Debussy's _Claire de Lune_ drifted from the cellular phone in the pocket by her thigh, jolting her awake. She slipped from the chair and flailed groggily, a windmill of limbs. It was on a reflex—a whim, really, and nothing more—that he caught her, his arm snagging around her torso, careful not to apply too much pressure. She squeaked, frozen in his impromptu embrace, just as surely as he; she was too close, her hair covering his face, her scent flaring like wildfire in his nose, and for an instant—just a _second_—he was completely lost.

She was heaven in his arms.

It was a choir of sunshine singing in his undead heart. It was every color in the spectrum wrapping around his body and squeezing, hugging him and smiling at him and greeting him with a fond, "Hi! How are you today?" It was the scent of morning dew. It was a cool sip of water on broken, cracked lips. It was a millisecond, it was an eternity, it was everything he had ever wanted, it was nothing he had ever known to want, and it scared the living _fuck _out of him. He let her go without preamble, essentially dropping her, but she had already moved to stand on her own. Jasper quickly reclaimed his own seat. He barely heard her stuttering gratitude, did not hear the instructor scolding her for leaving her cellular phone on, did not hear Alice asking her if she was well, did not hear Emmett gently tease her for falling asleep. He was stiff, tense, staring at the desk with wide, unseeing eyes.

_Red nails, red lips, red eyes. "Cantante."_

"Sorry, Mister Owl—er, Harrison," Bella was saying hoarsely, her natural pitch much lower than he remembered. "I just need to make a phone call."

There was never any sunshine before. There sure as shit had never been any fucking rainbows.

"Make it quick, Miss Swan."

_He was ripping, tearing, shredding. She was beside him, shimmering with twisted happiness, raging, filled to the brim with overwhelming greed and a dark lust he could never quite comprehend. Horror, pain, fear. He absorbed it all and recycled them, reflecting it upon the fools that had dared to invoke his mistress' wrath. Him. _

_Claire de Lune_. That was Edward's favorite. He would certainly get a kick out of Bella's taste in music. The telepath had played it so many times during the years that Jasper had long since memorized every note, could hum it flawlessly. It was beautiful, elegant… but it could never compare to her symphony. His symphony. _Their_ symphony. It was an ocean of soft light after a century of darkness, flooding a tiny cell with hope, filling its occupant with its unfamiliar warmth. He could spend centuries attempting to categorize the depth of his reaction, lose himself in that instant he wanted so badly to forget. His hands were trembling, quaking on the wood surface, and he stared at them, damning them for their inability to remain still. Where was the bloodlust, the tunnel vision? Everything was disjointed. Pieces of puzzles floating together, but never connecting, never revealing which puzzle they belonged to.

He could hear her talking on the phone, outside of the classroom, his ears sensitive to her breath, her sound. "It's fine, dad. I can walk. Just be careful, okay?"

"Jasper?" A soft touch on his arm. Alice, temporarily stealing Bella's seat. Worry, curiosity. Hope. So much _hope_. He did not dare to look at his sister.

"I'm fine," he whispered. What was _wrong _with him? He had to get out of here. "I have to…" What, run? Hunt? Kill the memories? Kill _her_, for making Jasper fucking Whitlock _shake_? "I…"

Somehow, she knew. Had he been projecting again? At this point, he could not help himself. Alice wrapped her arms around him, knowing without knowing—or did she?—that he needed the touch. It soothed him, calmed his hands, cleared his mind. Some of the pieces connected. "Relax," she breathed. He took a breath of air, coated with the familiar scent of his sister, of his brother behind him, of the humans he did not think twice about, of _her. _He closed his eyes, tasting the emotions around him, each one perfect and wonderful and innocent. A harmony he had never noticed before. Had it always been like this, and he had simply been too blind to see it? He tried to shake away his wayward thoughts, tried to regain the unyielding perspective that made him the man he was today—that made him Jasper Whitlock. It was there, taunting him, but he could not reach it. "We're all here for you." She pulled away, too soon, but he would not say it. He needed something to ground him, to hold him in one piece. "You don't have to be afraid, Jazz-bear."

The moniker startled a laugh out of him. Some of the pressure eased. The teacher said something he did not hear, and he did not care. "You're having too much fun with these names, sweetheart."

Alice smiled and shrugged, moving to vacate the seat in the same moment Bella reappeared. The girl, he noted, became embarrassed the moment their eyes met, her pale skin flushing. Why was _she_ embarrassed? _He _was the one that had lost his footing. She fidgeted hopelessly as she sat down, tucking her hair behind her ears, making an effort to keep her spine straight, casting him quick glances that darted away once she realized he was still watching her. Jasper could not stop, searching for something he could not name. He was unbalanced, and he was pleased to see that she was not unaffected. Exasperating human; he should have eaten her when he'd had the chance.

"What?" she finally asked.

He was making her nervous, which made him edgier. He calmed her for the sake of his sanity, and saw her spine loosen in response. "I beg your pardon?"

She did not shy away from his gaze this time. "You're uh… is there something on my face?"

"No," he answered.

"Oh." She started to play with a tendril of her hair, and left it at that. He kept staring. She looked towards the chalkboard, obviously pretending she did not notice his blatant perusal, and after a moment, he watched her lose focus and drift away. Again. Her shoulders slumped, her elbows came to lean upon the table. Lost in another reality. How peculiar; was it normal for a human to immerse herself so easily in a daydream? He wondered if, in her little fantasy, she would ever fathom the stark truth: she sat beside a vampire that, only yesterday, had been eager to kill her. Today, that vampire did not know whether to lean in close and inhale deeply, or lean in close and kill her for the aggravation she'd caused.

"Was the phone call important?" he asked, as if he did not know. The question had not been intentional.

She glanced at him again, her eyes glassy. "What?" She acknowledged him, but not his question. He saw the exact moment when her mind caught up. "Oh, that." A corner of her mouth quirked. "Kind of."

"Is everything all right?" Why was he still talking to her? Why did he care? When had he become so adept at vomiting useless words?

"Yeah," she said. "It was just my dad."

She was making him pry it out of her. In his experience, humans never shied away from speaking of themselves; they could prattle on and on until they ran out of breath, and would then begin anew. Of course, his luck would dictate that he'd encounter the _one _that would make him work for the answers to the questions he had not wanted to ask. It annoyed him. He should have let the matter die with her hesitance to disclose information. In fact, he would. "What did he want?" _Fuck_.

Bella frowned. "Why so curious?"

He raised an eyebrow. "Why so secretive?"

She pursed her lips and looked away. She aged a decade in the expanse of a second. "I'm not."

"You're a terrible liar," he mused aloud. An endearing quality, if he were searching for it, but terribly unfortunate. There were times when fallacies became the only way to survive.

She snorted. Rolled her eyes and found his again. "He wanted to let me know he couldn't pick me up after school," she conceded, a bit of humor coloring her words.

He'd figured as much. "Do you have another mode of transportation?"

She frowned at him again. "My legs."

He almost smiled. "They don't seem to be cooperating with you today." From what he'd gathered, the fact that she'd made it thus far without fatal injury was a miracle.

Bella flushed again. "I've noticed, _thanks_."

Jasper did smile then. She was easy to tease. He could see why Emmett enjoyed her company, which partially explained why his brother had become so attached to the girl so quickly. His mouth was moving before his brain could tell it not to. "Would you like a ride home?" he offered before he could think better of it, and nearly smashed his face into the desk. Repeatedly. Had he just…? No. There was no way he had just subjected himself to that kind of torture. She was corrupting him, distorting his reason, screwing with his mind somehow. More pieces were connecting, but he paid them no heed. Perhaps she _did_ have a gift, as Carlisle had hypothesized, and it was selective: the ability to thoroughly fuck with any Jasper Whitlocks in the vicinity.

She seemed just as surprised as he. "I…" Her mouth opened and closed soundlessly. Her doe-eyed stare was unnerving. "Y-yeah, okay. If it's not too much trouble, I mean."

He shook his head and kept his mouth shut, not trusting himself anymore. They turned simultaneously, staring sightlessly at the slanted lines of chalk on the board. A few of the children were gaping, and had he not bore first-hand witness to his inexplicable behavior, he would have found it amusing. Emmett whispered a cheerful, "_About fuckin' time, grandpa! I knew you had it in you._" He wanted to chuck something at the oaf. _Fuck. _What did he just do? Peter would have laughed at him, had his old friend witnessed what a fool he was. Charlotte would have been in stitches. A wave of nervous pleasure, of shy giddiness, wafted from his right, from her, distracting him. It lightened his mood.

"Blue," he heard her murmur softly.

"Gray," he murmured back, involuntarily breaking his self-imposed silence.

This was going to be a _nightmare_.


	12. The Twelfth

**NOTES: **Blargh.

**THANKS: **To everyone._  
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_Masquerade_

**THE TWELFTH**

She was a fucking_ idiot._

After everything she'd learned over the course of the past two years, one would think she would have the sense to _not_ accept such a random invitation. The Cullens must have short-circuited her preservation instincts, and hotwired their own brand of whimsical heroin into her brain. They burned away the fog of apathy and made her feel, and when she would have normally shied away from their easy touches, she accepted them without a thought. It wasn't _normal_; for the longest time, Bella had needed to fight the urge to claw Phil's eyes out whenever he ventured too close, for which she regretted every time she saw the pain reflected in her mother, but she'd learned to control the impulse after months of counseling and meditation. Why was it that this strange family of yellow-eyed strangers could break through that barrier without even _trying_?

And Jasper… what was his secret? His angle? Hot and cold, so fucking close and far too distant. How was he capable of manipulating her pulse so easily? His eyes could trap her. His voice of satin could break her out of a stupor and into one of his making with just a murmur, every syllable caressing her skin like silk. She should be suspicious of him by default, purely for his nature as a male with extraordinary aesthetics, but she was only intrigued. _Enraptured_.

He _clicked_ when nothing else could stick, on a level she had not known existed. She responded to him reflexively, as if she had known him forever, and he responded flawlessly. Tit for tat. His smile, his laugh, his happiness the one time she'd witnessed it had sent her sprawling into waters she'd never waded through before. It was exhilarating and nerve-wracking, but nothing could have prepared her for his arms, strong and steady and stable, around her stomach—his face against her spine, his body flush against hers, every muscle pressed against her back. She should have leapt away from him, should have decked him, should have done _anything_ other than freeze and revel in the fireworks going off.

She could have stayed there forever, had he not let her go. She would not have had the willpower to pull away. Who cared if the other students watched and whispered? They did that anyway.

Charlie's voice knocked some sense into her, though the physical distance from… _him_… was counted in footsteps and seconds. Some part of her mind had awoken, clear and sharp, keeping track of his position in the room, where he looked, when he breathed and how his chest moved—which did not happen, she discovered, much to her curiosity—how that one tendril of gold would lay against the bridge of his nose and how she itched to touch it. When he spoke to her, his voice reached her, and she could _think_ with a clarity that had her doubting whether or not she'd taken her medication. Her mayonnaise jar idea seemed tempting. He was vivid and crisp, sunshine in the rain. Crystal blue amongst the blurry gray. His proximity was closer than she allowed most to stay, and yet too far. Seventeen inches away, staring blindly at the chalkboard, stiff and completely unmoving, his fingers woven together in a mockery of a model student. She noticed it all, and she had not glanced in his direction since—

_Fuck_. He touched her _once_, and she forgot all reason. _Fuck._

The bell rang, and Jasper filed out ahead of her. She counted every step, every inch, every second he moved farther, until Alice and Emmett broke her out of her calculations and helped her to her next class. They spoke to her, but she could not peg down what they were saying, distracted by the accumulating footsteps, inches, seconds. It wasn't until she'd said her quiet goodbyes to the two siblings that the familiar haze returned, clouding her thoughts, muddling the clarity she so yearned for. Then, sitting beside Angela Weber, did it hit her: she'd accepted a ride from someone who, for all intents and purposes, was a stranger.

A handsome stranger dipped in autumn leaves and golden sunshine, with honey words and granite arms, but a stranger all the same.

The dream of coherency faded soon after, and she lost all sense of time. She drifted from class to class, sometimes with an escort, sometimes not, sometimes colliding with inanimate objects that had no business being there. Once the Cullen siblings had run off to parts unknown after the tumulus curiosity of Biology, Ask Angie was her buffer. The kind girl seemed worried at Bella's inability to walk straight, but refrained from prying, for which Bella was infinitely grateful. The lessons rolled off of her like water, never seeping into her pores, and Ask Angie had shaken her several times to keep her awake when it had been glaringly obvious she'd been nodding off. The music player did not help; she'd tried utilizing a loud, angry song with angry guitars and angry drums and angry singers that screamed their malcontent, but it was not enough to anchor her. So, disoriented and detached, Bella continued to drift along.

The noon hour signaled another dosage, this time for three of her skittles. She took them dutifully, confused by Monday's empty cube. Had she taken more than was due? She couldn't remember, and it worried her a bit. Ask Angie stood by her, staring, and though it bothered her to have the human equivalent of a hawk watching her every move, she shrugged it off. Together, she and Ask Angie ventured into the madhouse that was the cafeteria.

They grabbed their trays. Bella did not think she could stomach any food, but Angela insisted that she eat, so she piled her plate with a heap of mashed potatoes. Instead of joining the Cullens, as she had before, she followed Angela sightlessly to a seat, where she plopped down and stared at the strange utensil universally dubbed _spork_. What was the point of such a thing? They were in cafeterias all over the country, but they had always confused her. The little prongs could hardly spear through a cooked carrot, and they hurt if one was not careful while utilizing it as a spoon. In her old school, kids would use them as catapults and fling all manner of food across the room, which would make the floors sticky. Bella had enjoyed the strange suction when her sneakers would encounter a particularly gross section of tile, and the sound her shoes would make.

"My name's Jessica," someone chirped.

"You're friends with the Cullens, right?"

"I'm Ben."

"You come from Philadelphia, right? What's it like?"

"The name's Eric," said a voice dripping with casual flirtation.

"What's the deal with Rosalie? You guys, like, _totally_ went at each other's throat's yesterday. What was _that_ all about?"

"_I _wanna know why you beat the crap outta Mike."

"Is it true that _Jasper _is giving you a ride home? _Seriously?_"

"Bella?" That was Angela.

She grabbed the spork and started swirling it around the mountain of potatoes. Someone sat next to her, she noted vaguely. She piled a glop of mush onto another, scraping, looping, building. People chattered, their voices a constant buzz in the background. Another glop. Smooth edges. A tower? The potatoes were watery, but if she packed it tightly, the tower wouldn't lean so much.

"Rapunzel, Rapunzel, let down your hair," she murmured to herself.

The hour went by as all the others had. Dull, foggy and gray. She barely remembered to explain her slight disability—the _in_ability to do anything physical without severe and oft-times crippling consequences—to the gym teacher, but robust Miss Freeman would not hear of it, and had she not possessed a frame that could rival Emmett's, Bella would have put up more of a fight. As she saw it, Freeman lay at fault if any of the students needed emergency assistance as a result of Isabella Swan participating in Physical Education, so Bella did not feel at all guilty for the teacher's negligence. Luckily, today was just a basic overview of what lay in store for the rest of the year, but tomorrow, they would start badminton. _Yay._ Birdies and rackets and nets, oh my.

By the time the last bell rang for the day, heralding their freedom for the weekend, all she wanted to do was sleep. She stumbled slowly through the crowd, allowing them to herd her to the parking lot, where she stiffened. A spark of awareness shot down her spine and, like a magnet, her eyes shot through the mass of bodies to zero in on the black craft she'd spied this morning. Inevitably, its driver came into view, leaning against it with his arms crossed, his face shadowed. She was stricken with déjà vu.

_Jasper. _Her feet hastened to him before she could think otherwise. Her lethargy faded marginally. She had nothing to say, standing inches away, and he seemed disinclined to start a conversation; as soon as she was near, he stepped into his car. A moment later, she moved to the passenger side and closed the door behind her, dumping her bag on the ground between her legs.

What was she _doing?_

She barely had time to fasten her seatbelt before they pulled out of the parking lot without warning, burning rubber. He drove fast. _Ridiculously_ fast. There were no words exchanged, no asking where she lived, no expressions of gratitude for driving her home, and she forced her stomach to stop churning every time she spied the speeding scenery through the pitch black tint of his windows. He took roads her father had never taken and her heart thudded with dread.

Where was he taking her? _Fuck_. She should have known better. Who the fuck was Jasper Whitlock? She knew nothing of him or the rest of the Cullens, and she allowed them to do whatever they pleased with her. Two days. _Two days_, and she'd gotten into this contraption she assumed was a car, without telling anyone—namely, her father—where she was or with whom. What would Charlie do when she didn't come home? What would he eat? Would he get worried? Would he feel guilty? She hoped not, because the fault was entirely hers, _not_ her father's for doing his job. She should have known better than to accept a ride from a _stranger._ And Renée… _fuck_. Her mother would be devastated. How could she do this to them again? How could she be so goddamned _stupid_?

As quickly as the spike of anxiety flared, she became inexplicably calm. Peaceful. After a series of twists and turns, her house came into view, quelling the tide of paranoia that remained. Immediately, she felt ashamed at how easily she expected the worst, had feared her fickle trust misplaced, and was only grateful that she'd been wrong. It was not the first time. A bit of her reservation lingered, however. The journey had taken a total of a handful of minutes; she wasn't sure what route they'd taken, where they'd gone, or how they'd gotten here in one piece, but it was a little disconcerting how he knew her address.

"How do you know where I live?" she asked once he'd parked in the driveway. Instead of answering, he got out of the car and walked over to her side, opening the door for her.

Huh. She hadn't expected that.

"You're the Sheriff's daughter," he explained as he walked her to the door. "Your popularity deprives you of privacy."

She frowned at the wooden entrance. She turned to look at him, fishing for her keys. "That's kind of creepy."

He raised a brow at her. "Everyone in this town knows who you are, but you find fault with me because I admit it. I wonder what you'd think if I told you _everything_ I knew about you."

She huffed. "When you put it _that_ way, it sounds even creepier."

A corner of his mouth quirked. "Would it put you at ease to know _my_ address?"

Yes, please. "What for? I can just ask around. Do you know how much information Ask Angie gave me yesterday?" She smiled. "I could probably have your social security number, if I ask nicely."

She could feel his humor, tangible and amused, although it may have been her imagination. "I suppose that would be fair, as I already have yours." He chuckled at her wide-eyed horror. "I'm kidding. I have no need for such things."

Bella let out a small puff of air. "You're a riot," she replied, annoyed that she was so easily duped.

He paid no heed to her irritation, and began walking back towards his spaceship-with-wheels, tossing a half-hearted wave over his shoulder. Gray clouds were rolling in. "Enjoy your weekend, Isabella."

"Wait!" It was the way her name slipped from his mouth. It had to be. Why else would she call after him so desperately?

He stopped at his door. His yellow eyes looked at her curiously. "Yes?"

Well, _shit_. What would she say now? "Uh…" She scanned the front yard, grasping for something, _anything_. Don't go, she wanted to plead. _Don't leave me here._ Which was reprehensible, considering her sheer fright in the car mere moments ago. Why couldn't she make up her mind? "Would you…" _Damn it_. "Wanna stay for dinner?" she blurted. "I'm making…" She had not thought of it yet, but her assumption of him as a steak-and-potatoes man made her decision final. "Steak. With potatoes." How very clever. She would die of mortification, she just knew it. "And collard greens," she threw in, just to tighten the noose.

Jasper stared. She got the impression that he was dissecting her. "I'm a vegetarian," he said, his voice harsh.

She gaped at him. _No way_. "You're kidding me, right?"

"Unfortunately, I am not." His gaze never wavered. "I'm on a very strict diet…" At once, he donned a predatory leer. "But you might be the only human that could convince me otherwise."

Good, because that was a travesty. Who told him he needed to diet? It was unimaginable. Someone like him, with that physique… a growing boy needed a hearty meal and plenty of nutrients, and _he_ needed to come inside this instant and eat like the carnivore she was certain he was, instead of the herbivore he pretended to be. There was no way, _no way in hell_, this poor young man needed to be a vegetarian. "_Why?_" she could only ask, incredulous.

The predator faded, leaving a dark shadow over his features. He took a long moment before answering. "There are times when we must sacrifice one set of complications for another."

She understood entirely. "Is it worth it?"

He opened his door and stepped inside, though his eyes lingered on her. "You tell me." And he drove away.

_The crimson curtains of rippling velvet are left to flutter closed._

**NOTE: **There will be a sequel. Think of this as a really, _really _long prologue._  
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